


Running Smooth

by shichan_unedited (shinchansgirl)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, NCIS
Genre: Background Character Death, Barney Barton - Freeform, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Complicated Relationships, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Clint Barton, F/M, Hurt Clint Barton, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Past Torture, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony Stark Has A Heart, explicit character death, slow plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinchansgirl/pseuds/shichan_unedited
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth.- A Midsummer Night's Dream. William Shakespeare.After the Chitauri Invasion, Clint Barton (better known as Hawkeye) returned to his duties as a SHIELD assassin and spyhawk. Then, one day, everything gets turned upside down.Now he's living in the Avenger's tower and trying not to show how vulnerable he is, but when you're a single father raising three kids it's not as easy as it seems. Especially when people start throwing around words likesoulmarks. He won't believe it. After all, soulmates were incredibly rare and with the way his life is going a gift like that is likely to blow up in his face.





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't think I would do this, but here I am. This story is unbeta'd, and is actually going to be a LOT of firsts for me. First Avengers fic, first superhero fic, and - eventually - first crossover, which will also lead to my first NCIS fic. And my first soulmate/soulmark fic.
> 
> That being said, I hope you all enjoy. Please don't expect a ton of regular updates on this. Navigating through all those firsts is very tough. Encouragement, however, is greatly welcomed.

“Well this is unexpected,” Tony said. The elevator doors had opened, but instead of his Thai delivery the billionaire found Clint Barton, known to the Avengers as Hawkeye, standing in the elevator looking tired and a little bruised. The sandy-haired man had given two sharp raps to metal frame of the elevator, the closest one could get to knocking when entering the upper floors of Avengers Tower. Two small agents stood at the archer’s sides, pressed tightly to his legs, while one extremely tiny agent (seriously, could that one even speak?) rested on his hip. “Who are the munchkins? You know, not that I’m not grateful for your help in keeping the aliens from destroying the world and everything, but I was hoping for a little bit of warning before another mission came up. I’m assuming it’s another mission, anyways, since you decided you didn’t want to live here. Are you even listening to me?”

“Daddy can’t hear,” the small female agent said, her hand fisted in Clint’s shirt. “Bad men came and mommy told us to go to the secret place. And then it got real loud. Daddy came for a moment, but then he had to leave again to get mommy so we stayed in the secret place.”

“It was quiet for a real long time. And when daddy came back, mommy wasn’t with him,” the older male took over, glaring at Tony. “Where’s mommy?”

“How should I know?” Tony asked while waving his hand in front of Clint’s face. The man startled into a more awake state and shook himself. Tony hadn’t realized it before but the blonde was almost asleep on his feet. “I’m more interested – did you say he can’t hear?”

“Sonic arrow,” Clint said, enunciating very clearly and speaking unusually loudly. He’d apparently been practicing. “Explain inside.”

“Sonic arrow,” Tony repeated. “That’s either very interesting or something from a kid’s cartoon. Come inside, yes, yes, just invite yourself in. JARVIS, cancel my Thai order and get us some pizza would you? Kids like pizza, right?”

“Not Nathe. Baby Nathe just eats milk,” the boy – he was slightly older than the girl, or maybe just taller, it was hard to tell – said with an ‘are you stupid?’ tone.

“Right, JARVIS, see if they’ll deliver baby milk too.” Baby Nathe? Why had the boy called him that?

“I don’t think pizza delivery service includes infant supplies,” came a robotic voice from the walls. “Perhaps Mister Barton brought some with him?”

“I’d ask him, but apparently he’s ignoring me,” Tony said as he herded the group into the second elevator since the first had only gotten them to the communal floor. It was the only floor of the living quarters with public access; for added security Tony had insisted on a second one to go to the bedrooms. “Clint’s floor. I didn’t exactly expect munchkins when I built it, but no biggie. You can sleep on the couch until we get beds, right? Or do you still sleep in cribs? Seriously, do I look like I deal with munchkins a lot? Pepper can take you shopping for what you’ll need.”

“What do you mean, daddy’s floor?” the girl asked.

“This is the Avenger’s Tower,” Tony said.

“So?”

“Your – daddy,” Tony frowned at the word, scrunching his nose up, “is an Avenger.”

“No he’s not. Daddy’s a super secret agent.”

“Who is also an Avenger.”

The girl thought about this a moment, then turned and tugged on Clint’s shirt. He looked down at her, paying close attention to her face. “Are you a venger?”

Clint hesitated and Tony wondered how the hawk would answer. Clint wasn’t technically an Avenger – not yet, at least. He’d been on loan from SHIELD when he’d helped with the alien invasion. It was only fair, seeing as how he’d been under mind-control for the first part and helped cause it. When Tony had said he was an Avenger back then, Clint had shaken his head and said ‘I’m not a superhero. I just shoot things.’ Given the presence of munchkins, however, perhaps he was reconsidering. Just when Tony thought he wouldn’t answer, Clint nodded with a small sigh. “I am now.”

“You weren’t before?”

“No, sweetie.” His voice was still a bit too loud and he was obviously only reading her lips – ‘a venger’ and ‘an avenger’ must be similar – but the little girl acted like it was normal and nodded her head. “Okay.”

“Since that’s settled,” Tony continued, “all the Avengers have a floor here. Some live here, sometimes. Honestly, I’m not even sure why you knocked. I thought I made it perfectly clear this was going to be a home for all of us. In fact, I distinctly remember discussing it over shawarma.”

“Daddy can’t hear,” the boy reminded him.

“Yeah, I get that,” Tony said, seeing a tiny trickle of dried blood coming out of one ear. “And it’s really fucking annoying.”

Twin gasps told him that wasn’t appropriate munchkin language, and Clint’s glare said he knew something wasn’t right and Tony was going to pay for it.

“JARVIS, you better get a doctor here too. Probably Banner, or Barton will shoot them for getting too close.” Or bolt. Natasha had warned him about Clint’s habit of disappearing out of medical.

“Of course, sir. Your pizza will be here in 30 minutes. They apologize for the delay, but it is the middle of the evening rush for them.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony said, waving his hand as if batting away the concern. 

* * *

Clint tried really hard to focus on his surroundings, but the loss of his hearing left him extremely disoriented and almost dizzy. Vertigo, if he had to guess. On top of the bruises from his mission, which were forming on top of the bruises from the chin-something-fucking-alien invasion. His side was killing him; he’d landed on his quiver once during that incident and he hadn’t done a stellar 10-point landing on the mission. He’d almost been afraid to drive to Stark Tower, except he hadn’t had a choice. He would not – could not – rest until his children were safe, and the saferoom only had supplies for so long. As it was he could only feed Nathaniel once more before he had to figure out how to get shopping done. Maybe he would be able to ask JARVIS?

Coming to Stark Tower hadn’t been his first choice, though it was the first he’d taken. He would have preferred going to Banner or Natasha, but his children’s safety _had_ to come first. Banner would have been more sympathetic, but there was also the Hulk to consider. Clint couldn’t expose his children to that. While Natasha would have been more understanding, she was also the Black Widow. Her home moved on a nearly constant basis and was rarely secure as she lured her targets into her space. The last thing he needed was to drop in on her when she was in the middle of a mission with a seven year old, a five year old, and a three-month-old. While his instincts told him to go that direction, logic told him Stark Tower was the safest place to be. It would even be the safe if the Hulk or Thor showed up since both Iron Man and Captain America called the tower home.

Actually his instincts were telling him to go underground, but that was not a life for children. Stark Tower was better. Not only was the building secured but it had JARVIS. If one of the children got hurt, or sick, or something was happening because Clint couldn’t hear, JARVIS was always (always, always, always) watching. It was better than someone watching your back, because it was an AI so it never slept and was reliable and –

And, okay, yeah, Clint couldn’t hear so he wanted the safe haven of an AI rather than someone who had to sleep and relieve themselves and could miss something.

Not that there was anything left.

Clint’s hearing had been bad for longer than he’d been a SHIELD agent, to the point where hearing aids were a necessity. Clint’s best guess was that he’d been too close to one too many loud booms while working the circuit. Circus life wasn’t exactly ideal for growing up. Going from show to show with the bursts of sound from the human cannonball, the fireworks going off right next to his bed, and covering for the DJ without headphones to block out the noise he could feel in his bones had been hell on his eardrums.

He’d taken advantage of his fading hearing when he created the sonic arrows. They worked essentially as loud booms, deafening his opponents as efficiently as any flash-bang grenade, and left everyone alive so he could extract friendlies. Being very nearly deaf had at least one advantage.

How was he going to explain all this to Stark? Explain how he’d gone from hearing a low hum of sounds to absolute silence?

Once in the kitchen, baby Nathaniel started fussing. Well, he started squirming and Clint could see his mouth opening and closing, so Clint knew it was fussing. He settled the baby down on the couch and let the diaper bag fall off his shoulder onto the floor. From it he pulled out the changing pad, a fresh diaper, and the wet wipes. With quick, efficient movements the wet diaper was removed and a fresh one added. He knew he should have added baby powder, but that was yet another thing he needed to pick up from the store.

A pair of tongs came into his field of vision, and Clint almost laughed at the image of Tony Stark using kitchen supplies to pick up a dirty diaper and drop it in a bio-hazard bin. He actually wasn’t surprised the billionaire had one of those; he’d seen Tony (and Thor) try to cook.

Once the dirty diaper was taken care of, Clint pulled a soft toy from the bag and handed it to the baby. It was a small, golden lion with a dopey smile. Laura had found it when she’d gone to the store, and baby Nathaniel had fallen in love with it.

A StarkPad – because normal tablets weren’t good enough for Stark – was shoved in his face with one large blinking word: _Explain_.

Then JARVIS (it had to be JARVIS) typed out: _I will relay what you type to Mister Stark. If he asks a question, I will print it on the top of the screen. Is this acceptable?_

Yes and No buttons appeared. With a sigh, Clint hit yes.

_This is going to take a while,_ he typed out slowly. The font, he noticed, was purple. Strange. _The kids need to eat._

The top of the screen started showing red print. JARVIS’ text had been white. Were they color coding for him? _JARVIS ordered pizza for them. Trying to see if they deliver infant formula._

Clint almost laughed. _They don’t, but thanks for trying. I do need more, though. I only have enough for one feeding. I’m also going to need baby powder, diapers, and food for the kids. Healthy food, not just takeout. We’ll need to notify the school that Cooper’s not coming anymore. I guess I can homeschool him until we figure out where we’re staying._

When he looked up Tony was pacing. He glanced back down at the screen and typed out: _I can go to the store when they go to bed, if you’ll keep an eye on them for a bit. They’ll be sleeping; it’ll be easy._

_You can’t hear._ In glaring red font, it was a harsh reminder.

_I can still go to the store and buy formula,_ Clint typed out angrily, his finger jabbing at the screen.

_Why the fuck can’t you hear?_

“Tony!” Clint growled, eyes flashing angrily. He couldn’t hear himself, but his mouth and throat remembered how to shape the word. Judging from the expression on Tony’s face, he’d been too loud and too harsh. Well, good. _Little ears!_ he typed.

_Sorry_ , Tony’s words were printed on the screen, but Clint didn’t need to look. He read the other’s lips, and Iron Man did not look sorry. He looked like he was sulking.

_When the food comes, make sure Cooper and Lila eat. Then can you watch them while they take their baths? They know how to clean themselves, you just need to make sure they don’t drown._ He typed out. They weren’t actually very good at cleaning themselves, but they hadn’t had a bath in two days and it would be better than nothing. He would make sure they cleaned properly tomorrow. Besides, playing in the tub would distract them. _JARVIS, can you relay what I write only to Tony? Make sure the kids don’t hear?_

_Of course, sir_ , came the white text again. Tony was moving around, opening drawers (this place would need a lot of childproofing; could JARVIS lock drawers?) and generally making a mess. Clint looked down when the tablet vibrated. _Mister Stark is looking for an earpiece now, and seems to be wondering why you can’t just enroll the child in the local school. I can pull statistics for you, if you like._

_Tell him I’ll type what happened out while he watches the kids. Nathaniel can stay with me. If anything happens, you’ll alert me?_ He ignored the comment about the schools. It looked like Tony was muttering to himself, so he probably didn’t know what he was saying.

_As you wish,_ was the white text on the screen.

It was followed quickly by red: _Are you sure I should be watching the small agents? SHIELD is recruiting very young these days._

_They aren’t agents, and don’t go giving them ideas,_ Clint typed back. _I swear, I will bury you and no one will find the body._

_Point taken: Apollo is protective of his spawn. JARVIS, put them on 24-hour watch._

_Of course, sir,_ the white text answered.

Clint gave his children a sad look and then went back to the tablet. _You may want to give them a coloring book or something. No tablets and no video games. At least not if you want to sleep anytime in the next few hours._

Tony had made a motion towards a cabinet and then reconsidered when he heard the full comment. Clint was glad the other man hadn’t just asked his kids what they wanted; those two could play games for hours once they got started, and it was almost always followed by a tantrum when it was time to quit. Fortunately for Tony, JARVIS had easy access to the internet. Within moments Lila had printed pictures of Ariel she was filling in with red, blue, and black pens (because of course Stark didn’t have crayons, another thing to pick up from the store) and Cooper was concentrating hard to complete a transformers connect-the-dots puzzle. At first Clint worried it was a bit below his second-grader’s level, until he saw the numbers were actually written roman numeral style. JARVIS had printed a key out for him.

Well, that was different.

_Type, bird-brain_ , in red text.

Clint sighed and stared at the pad for a moment. As tired as he was, a full-on explanation would take too long, and would come out half mangled. But a mission report? Yeah, he could do that. He started typing.

* * *

_Hour: 0300. Homestead._

_Pack supplies: 60-weight draw, 30 trick shots, 40 planos, 1 glock, 2 utility knives, 4 ammo cartridges._

_Mission: estimated 10 hour reconnaissance. If possible, place surveillance arrows around target location. Do not engage. Not an enemy. Suspected alien refugee, hiding in abandoned woods. Possible civilian interaction._

_Notes: At hour 0845, arrived outside target location. Flight was a bitch, took longer than planned. Possible bruising from landing with incorrect parachuting gear. Suggest re-evaluating gear procedures at departure point. Rookies will likely get broken legs. Target location was arrived at 0924. Observed for three hours. No activity. Planted cameras without needing arrows. Entered hut; appeared abandoned. Remained in observation two more hours. Saw a dog squat._

_Returned to rendezvous point at 1513. Flight out of contact. Against protocol, you really need to check their damn radios. Rendezvous flight arrived at 1630. Debrief short; nothing to report._

_At 2157 returned to Homestead. Safehouse had been breached. Conner, Lila, and Nathaniel were in bunker, but house itself had been burned to the ground. No sign of Laura. Confirmed children’s safety, then resealed in bunker. Began search for Laura, and attackers. Based on evidence at scene, confirmed attack was Black Ops, internal. SHIELD, SWAT, or Army. Evidence suggested Laura captured, still alive. Followed trail to temporary base, abandoned factory. Arrived at 2349. Used sonic arrow to disable. Fucking parachuting mess must have fucked up my hearing aids. Damn things blew up in my ears. Searched for Laura. Found shot, fatally. Returned the favor._

_Returned to homestead. Gathered children and went to stable. Mustang already loaded with carseats, basic supplies, and backup weapons, per emergency protocol. Loaded children and drove towards Stark Tower. Arrived at 1621. Drive made difficult by lack of functional hearing aids and avoiding possible tails. Detoured twice. Three circular routes and-_

 

Tony grabbed Clint’s hand to stop the typing. Long story? More like a mission report. One with too many holes, in Clint’s normal clipped tone of not-enough-trust. And given the times he was listing, not enough sleep. That explained the occasional snarky comments from the usually quiet man. “It’s not a mission report when your wife dies,” Tony said softly, though he knew his tone wouldn’t translate into anything other than red text. By his estimation, Clint had been awake for at least 36 hours, probably closer to two days since he would have been prepping before the 3 AM leave time. Possibly more; Clint’s report had no clear distinction between days. There was some important facts he needed to clarify though: “Did you clean the scene?” If he hadn’t, Tony needed to let SHIELD know before the authorities found it. If he had, then what Fury didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

JARVIS’ voice relayed directly into Tony’s ear: “I left my wife so she could be found and buried proper. No one will find the others.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m not as – clean – as you are, Stark. When I bury a body there isn’t anything left to be found.”

The billionaire wished his brilliant mind didn’t make the great leaps it did at that statement. The questions – self-taught or self-preservation? SHIELD or someone else? – rattled around his brain at a million miles an hour. He had to stop and remind himself that Hawkeye wasn’t a normal soldier; he was SHIELD’s super sniper. “Get some rest,” Tony said. “You’re safe here. Bullet-proof glass, I promise. Well, as bullet-proof as glass can be, at least. Swear it’s nearly a foot thick. Not even your arrows would get through.”

Clint read the text, shrugged, and checked on the baby. At some point the drooler had fallen asleep.

“Go sleep in a bed,” Tony said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t fall off the couch. I need to stay up anyways, feed the kids, and –well – check on a few things.” Like where the hell Bruce was, what sort of black ops mission included killing Avenger wives, and if he had to warn Thor about keeping Jane safe. Start some programs to see if any chatter on missing teams had cropped up.

And find out what a sonic arrow was. Seriously, “used sonic arrow to disable” told him absolutely nothing except that somehow it managed to make a damaged hearing aid practically blow up.

“If you can’t sleep, start listing supplies that you need replaced. Not just a grocery list – everything. Movies, toys, clothes, weapons, all of it.” The monotony would lull the archer to sleep eventually. Or send him into a depressive spiral, depending. Well, JARVIS was always watching for that. Tony had programmed it into the AI after a spectacularly bad drinking binge he was never mentioning again. Ever. “Not just what you need immediately, but everything you want. You can narrow it down later, but it’s a trick I learned to calm all the neurons down. Just list things out.”

Looking unhappy, Clint made his way to the bedroom.

* * *

_Short Bow_

_Longbow_

_30-Weight Draw Bow_

_(60-Weight Draw Bow in fair condition after mission; maintenance supplies needed)_

_90-Weight Draw Bow_

_Recurve Bow_

_Double Recurve Bow_

_Compound Hunting Bow (30-Weight Draw, camo, lighter-weight metal)_

_I make my own arrows, Stark, so don’t even try. I’ll need a workshop._

_Fletching_

_Various materials for shafting and arrowheads_

_Don’t even ask, Stark._

_Actually, all of the above should be scratched. It took me years to build up that supply; I can’t afford it right now. Just the short bow, if you can find one at a reasonable price. I’ll have to check to see what my budget is. Haven’t checked in a while. Damn._

_Disney Movies, Shirley Temple movies, basically anything cute with lots of singing for Lila._

_Power Rangers, Pokemon, and Yu-gi-oh keep Conner entertained. Saturday morning cartoons._

_Pumpkin seat (for the baby)_

_Formula_

_Baby Food (it’s a variety, Stark, I’m not listing it all out)_

_Coloring books_

_Crayons_

_Magic Eraser (seriously, you haven’t seen what crayons can do)_

_Child-proof locks_

_Kid beds_

_Kid sheets_

_Mister Bunny (we’re going to have to find a replacement. Lila won’t last long without it)_  

* * *

It looked like Clint had fallen asleep making his list, which didn’t surprise Tony at all. Looking it over, he wondered if Clint was actually making a list or trying to tell him something. Half the items had notes on it directed to Tony, and some were nothing but notes to Tony. And really? Clint thought Tony would charge him to replace these things? At least Clint still had his kids. At least his kids still had _him_.

Tony hated touching people – years of fear instilled in him by his parents that tattoos might suddenly appear with skin-to-skin was hard to ignore – but he shook one bare shoulder and called out softly: “Come on, Robin Hood. You need to sleep in the bed, not on the table.” Which, yeah, Clint couldn’t hear and JARVIS wasn’t relaying. That was stupid.

Bleary eyes blinked at him and Tony pointed at the bed. Clint got the hint, stumbling over, and Tony took off the blonde’s shoes and got him under the covers. The archer was sleeping again almost before his head hit the pillow.

Considering some of the reactions he’d seen to being startled awake, that was actually very normal. It was shocking how normal it was. Clint was an _agent_ , and lots of those came with warning labels like: do not touch, do not startle, do not feed the bear. That normal reaction reinforced the ‘I just shoot things’ attitude Clint had.

Tony went back out to where the children were. Seriously, what had he been thinking? Tony was bad with children. The little girl looked up at him, her face half covered in pizza with red sauce splattering her shirt and her hands a gooey mess. Her brother was better, but not by much. “Is daddy sleeping?” she asked.

“For now, yes,” Tony said. “He’s very tired.”

“Can we sleep with him?”

Tony doesn’t know how to answer that, so he says: “Eat your pizza.”

Except apparently the small female agent is five years old and doesn’t understand avoidance. “If I eat my pizza, then can I go snuggle with daddy?”

“Are you kidding? You’re filthy. You need to get cleaned up first. Do you have any other clothes?”

Which, apparently, was a mistake to ask. The munchkin was all too happy to show off her clothes with her pizza-covered hands, and her brothers, and Tony just barely stopped her from showing him the baby’s. Who, thankfully, was still sleeping on the couch. “Can he, like, roll over or anything?”

The two children looked at each other with their heads cocked to the side, like a private conversation. Except the look on their faces said it wasn’t really a conversation so much as a lack of understanding the question and hoping the other had the answer.

“Nevermind,” Tony said. “JARVIS, can you order a crib? Immediate delivery and assembly. Whatever’s fine. I’ll build a better one when Clint’s more alert.” Motion-sensitive, with a vibration alert on a wristband, maybe. He tucked the thought away with the ten other half-thought ideas in the back of his mind and tried to focus on the problem at hand. It was hard to focus sometimes (the doctors called it ADD; Tony said he could spell quite well, thank-you-very-much, and he’d been able to add since he was two), but he’d always managed when it was important. This was important. “Are you done eating?”

The two children nodded, but then Tony was faced with a conundrum. “Do you two take baths together still?”

The scrunched faces and mock-gagging told him the answer was a definite no. He sighed. “JARVIS, run a bath, please. Which of you two wants to go first?”

They were looking at each other again, then almost simultaneously pointed at the baby.

“No, he doesn’t get a bath tonight.” Tony didn’t think he could handle it. “It’s one of you two.”

“Are there bubbles?” the girl asked.

“I don’t want bubbles,” the boy said, scowling. “Bubbles are _girly_.”

“Well I’m a girl,” the girl said. “And I want bubbles.” A little foot stomped.

Tony wasn’t sure if he even had bubbles.

JARVIS’ voice saved him. “A bath without bubbles has been run in the bathroom,” the AI said. “If Mister Cooper would like to take his bath first, I can then run the bath again with bubbles for Miss Lila when he is finished.”

The children looked at the walls in amazement. “How come Mister Jarvis doesn’t come out to talk to us?” Cooper asked, his lip set stubbornly. “Doesn’t he like us?”

“JARVIS isn’t actually a person,” Tony said. “Well, not a flesh and blood person. JARVIS lives in the computer.”

“Like Digimon?”

Tony didn’t know what digimon was, but he was sure he was about to find out.

* * *

“Finally!” Tony said as soon as Bruce came through the elevator. The baby had woken up fussy once and it had taken no less than three internet sites, five towels, and two diapers for Tony to change him. His hands were red from scrubbing, and Clint owed him big for that. Tony wasn’t sure if the smell would ever leave his nose. “What took you so long?”

“I was in Peru,” Bruce said. “Studying some of the old sites to see if there was anything which could help with the Other Guy.”

Tony, as usual, shrugged mentions of the green rage monster off. “Barton had a nasty run in with unfriendlies and can’t hear. He brought three little munchkins with him, but someone managed to kill his wife.”

“How’d that happen?” Bruce asked, startled. “Are the kids okay? What about Clint? I didn't even know he was married. If they got to his wife-“

“Clint wasn’t home when they hit, I think. He tried to explain, but the damn thing read like a bad mission report. I don’t think he slept for two days.”

“Probably avoiding the nightmares,” Bruce said. “I can’t imagine how messed up his dreams will be – first Loki and now this.”

“Right now he’s basically passed out. I woke him earlier to move him to the bed. Seemed fine to me.”

“Might be shock, still. Doesn’t answer my question though.”

“To check out his ears. Apparently he wears hearing aids and they exploded in his ears during the attack.”

Bruce winced. “Ouch. More than ouch. I can check him out, but why not trust SHIELD’s analysis?”

“SHIELD was one of the potential unfriendlies.”

Bruce froze. “What?”

“We’re not sure where they came from,” Tony said as he fiddled with a spare tablet in his hands. He just wanted to jot down some ideas- “I’ve had JARVIS looking for any sort of information he can find – camera footage, pictures, anything – since the munchkins fell asleep. He hasn’t picked up a hint of chatter. From what Clint said before he fell asleep, they were too skilled to be normal hitmen.”

Bruce nodded as he grabbed a mug to fill with coffee. It was going to be a long night. “That would make sense. I can’t see Barton leaving his wife and kids without any protection. She could probably shoot, and his weapons would have been there.” As always, Tony had some fancy brand Bruce couldn’t identify, but he could taste the difference.

“He must have been prepared for something, he had bunkers and emergency cars and emergency stashes all ready to go.”

“He has those everywhere,” Bruce said, shrugging.

Tony startled a bit, frowning, and looked up from his StarkPad. “What?”

“I call them his ‘nests’. He told me about them in case the Other Guy came out and I found myself naked somewhere again. He’s probably got one in every city he’s been in. A bag tucked into a locker or under a loose floorboard with everything he needs to survive for a few days – clothes, some cash, shoes, and a knife or two. Probably even non-perishable foods. Given the choice between fight or flight, Clint almost always chooses flight. Those are there in case he has to.”

“He fought with the Avengers.”

“Because he also has a strong sense of honor, and probably felt like he was making up for something he was partly to blame for. He wasn’t – Loki controlled him – but that wouldn’t stop him from feeling responsible and trying to make up for it.”

“Guess I just never pegged him as a coward.”

Bruce shook his head. “He’s not. But you have to remember he’s not a front-row fight kind of guy. He’s a sniper. He finds a nest and hides in it, sometimes for days, until his target is in the right spot. Then he takes them out and hides any trace that he was ever there. Sometimes he’s had to get rid of the victim too, on SHIELD’s orders.”

“Right, sniper not charger. Got it,” Tony muttered. “Why arrows, then?”

Bruce shrugged. “I never asked.”

“It’s just – it seems inefficient. The range on an arrow is much shorter than a gun, you’d have to be higher and more exposed to shoot it, and there’s a chance you might not even kill your target. Also, reloading takes longer and you only get one shot at a time. Can’t carry as many shots, either.”

“He’s not a billionaire, maybe arrows are cheaper?” Bruce hazarded.

“More memorable, maybe,” Tony said. “Easier to copycat, too, I’d bet.”

“Not really. No one trains with bows anymore. And half of his aren’t normal.” Trick arrows, Tony remembered.

There was some movement from the baby on the couch and both men froze. It seemed, though, that it was merely something in a dream; within moments the child had settled.

“You left the baby on the _couch_?”

“They only just finished setting up the crib, like, ten minutes before you got here. And I wasn’t about to pick it up when it was sleeping! It might biohazard on me.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “It might what?”

“You did _not_ see that last diaper I changed. I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it yet, even if it is sealed in the bin. Clint may have fathered a child who produces nuclear waste.”

Tony frowned. He really hoped Bruce’s laughter wouldn’t wake the smallest munchkin. He wouldn’t know how to get it back to sleep again. Where was Pepper when he needed her?

* * *

Clint woke at the light shake of his shoulder, blinking away sleep. He was in bed with two of his children and it took him a moment to remember he’d fled with them to Stark – no, the Avenger’s Tower. Bruce, looking concerned, motioned towards his own ears. He was clearly trying to say something but he made the words so exaggerated it was hard to tell what.

Clint saw Tony standing in the doorway and looked at him instead. “He wants to look at your ears. Check for damage,” Tony said normally (and hopefully quietly; the kids were sleeping). Clint nodded, almost smiling at Tony’s tense, stiff, careful-not-to-be-too-tight hold on Nathaniel. He got out of bed carefully to avoid waking the children, stretched, and went to find a shirt. He’d only bothered to change into sweatpants before starting on the list Tony suggested and then collapsing into sleep.

The two other men were discussing something, but Clint ignored it. He grabbed the StarkPad JARVIS was using to translate for him and checked on Lila and Conner one more time before leaving the room. He knew he was too loud when he didn’t have his hearing aids, trying to compensate for the loss. Knowing the other man would prefer tech over infant, Clint exchanged the tablet for Nathaniel. One handed and knowing that Stark wouldn’t understand anyways, he signed _I thought you didn’t like being handed things._ He didn’t laugh, but smiled down at his baby instead.

Rather than turn down the pad, Tony looked relieved to be rid of the tiny human. “There’s a crib set up for him in one of the bedrooms, but I don’t know how to make him sleep.”

Clint cocked his head to the side and determined they were far enough away from the bedroom that it was okay to talk. “Crib?”

“Had it delivered and assembled an hour ago.” Clint double checked Tony’s (expensive) watch.

“It’s two AM!”

“So?”

Clint shook his head and turned towards Bruce. “Kitchen?”

Dr. Banner nodded, saying something Clint couldn’t follow. The archer shook his head. “What?”

Bruce and Tony exchanged words for a moment, of which Clint only caught Bruce’s _“I am not!_ ” out of tense lip movements. At one point Tony put the tablet on the baby’s belly like it was a table, ignoring Clint’s glare.

With a shrug Clint went to the kitchen he’d passed on his way in. It was time for the baby’s bottle anyway. Hopefully Stark could order formula the way he ordered furniture. 

* * *

“Have you always had a tattoo on your arm, sir? Doctor Banner is asking.” JARVIS’ white text confused Clint. He didn’t have any tattoos. As a sniper it was better if he didn’t have any identifying marks, that way he could slip in and out of his nests and look just like everyone else. Perhaps there was a bruise and Bruce had mistaken it?

He was still feeding Nathaniel and Bruce and Tony were still arguing about something so answering wouldn’t be simple. Or, more accurately, it could _only_ be simple. “No tattoos,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice quiet. He hated overcompensating. The other two Avengers were far enough away he didn’t get a glance, so he guessed he was successful.

Instead of answering, JARVIS brought up an image of Clint sleeping on the bed and zoomed in on the bare upper arm. There, a few inches down from the shoulder, was a strange tattoo. It almost looked like a target made of two triangles instead of circles. Neatly bisecting the target were traditional crosshair marks. A bullseye.

Clint frowned. “Earlier?” he asked, rocking Nathe a bit and pulling the bottle away. He grabbed the burp cloth and put it over his shoulder, then lifted the baby up and started gently patting him. “Let me know when Nathe burps?”

“Of course, sir,” was the white text in response. The image was still rewinding.

“There,” Clint said. “Stop. Go slow, forwards.”

JARVIS did, and Clint watched. When he was making the list the archer’s arm was free of any marks. He fell asleep without any. Tony gently woke him and moved him to the bed, still bare. A few minutes after Tony left the mark was clear enough to be seen on camera.

A soulmark.

“Turn it off,” Clint said, wondering what he was going to do about this as his stomach turned in knots. He’d never considered – well, no one did. Soulmarks are incredibly rare. As far as anyone knew there were only two or three pairs in the US at one time who had them. From what little Clint remembered from school and movies, the marks started forming as soon as skin-to-skin contact was made. It could take up to 24 hours for them to be dark enough to make out, and 48 hours to turn the solid black color that mimicked a tattoo. That was the longest recorded time, but some cases didn’t take that long. Some only took a few hours or a few minutes, supposedly. That could be just the movies, though.

Based on the timestamp JARVIS had shown there were very few people who could share his mark. And he’d killed all of them.

Clint bit back the wave of nausea and reminded himself that those men deserved to die. They’d killed Laura. And Clint, well, he’d trusted SHIELD with her location, hadn’t he? He’d fucked up with Loki and he’d fucked up with Laura, and now he’d fucking killed his soulmate. He deserved the pain of that.

“Shall I inform Dr. Banner and Mister Stark?” JARVIS asked.

Clint shook his head. He couldn’t hide it from them, but he needed a few moments. Bruce didn’t even know what had happened yet, unless Tony was telling him now. That would explain the long time they were taking in the hallway. “The baby has burped,” white text informed him.

“Thank you.” Clint wiped the little bit of spit from Nathe’s mouth – at least he hadn’t thrown up this time – and then laid a blanket out on the floor. He put the few toys he had grabbed on the blanket and set Nathe in the middle on his belly. The baby had already learned to raise his head up and look around; soon he’d be figuring out how to roll over and army crawl toward his toys.

The archer stood and went to wash out the bottle and clean up. One hand went to the StarkPad. “Can you order formula for delivery? He’ll be hungry around-“ Clint checked the time, “-9 AM, and I’m out. If no one delivers that early, just give me a list of places open nearby that sell it.”

“I will get some delivered for you, sir,” JARVIS said. “Are you in need of other supplies?”

Clint nodded. “Baby powder and diapers. That should be it for immediate supplies. Baby food – sorry. He’ll need some of that too.” JARVIS brought up a list of foods and brands, and Clint selected a few.

“There is no public access to this part of the tower, but Happy and Miss Potts have relayed that they are willing to pick up the supplies from the front desk and bring them to your floor when they arrive. They have an appointment with Mister Stark at 7:30.”

“Thanks.” Clint could have gone down to get the supplies himself, but he understood wanting to do what you could for others when you think they’re in shock.

Was he in shock? Laura, the mother of his children, was dead. The thought wasn’t particularly painful, though it did twist his stomach. Clint had loved her – loved her as deeply as he knew how – but after Loki… after that _thing_ had scrambled his brain and put it back together in all the wrong ways, Clint felt like he couldn’t react without triple-checking to make sure it was _him_ and not some side effect of mind control. And then to find out he had a soulmate only to realize in the same moment that he’d killed his match –

Clint pushed away the dizzying thought.

“About the mark, sir,” JARVIS’ text scrawled out. “What shall I tell Dr. Banner?”

Right, Bruce had been asking about it. And if he tried to keep it a secret from Stark, he’d pull the records from JARVIS. “Does Tony still have the earpiece in?”

“Yes sir. He has yet to take it out.”

“Tell Tony and _only_ Tony when it appeared. And tell him the only new touches 24 hours prior to that were the men who attacked homestead. Let him figure out what to tell Banner.”

“What of Mister Stark? Is that not also a touch?”

Clint shook his head. “It has to be someone you’ve never touched skin-to-skin before. Tony and I must have shaken hands or something before. Be weird if we didn’t.”

“Very well, sir.”

It didn’t matter anyway, Clint thought. His soulmate was someone he killed on the squad. If it had been Tony, Clint wouldn’t have said anything anyways. Tony was about to get married, and Clint couldn’t take that away from him. He couldn’t deny Tony the chance at what he had with Laura. And if Tony did find a matching mark on his body?

It wasn’t possible, Clint told himself. They’d worked together before, it would be strange if they didn’t have some contact.

Besides, he had more important things to worry about. Like where they were going to stay, finding new hearing aids, and figuring out how much money he had so he knew what he could afford.

* * *

“Ha! I was right. A soulmark. Wow, a soulmark,” Tony said, amazed for a moment. “Didn’t think I’d ever see one of those appearing. After it did, yeah, but before and after shots?” He whistled.

“Sir, Mister Barton did not wish to relay the information to Doctor Banner himself. He states that the only new touches within the past 24 hours were the men who attacked homestead,” JARVIS’ voice said in his ear.

“Really?”

“He was quite shaken, but seemed certain you must have touched him previously given your history. I assume he believes he killed his soulmate with his actions.” Tony scowled at JARVIS’ news.

“You know, not all of us can hear whatever it is that’s so interesting,” Bruce cut in. Despite his words he didn’t look irritated.

“Have you ever become an expert on something in a few hours?” Tony asked.

“Not recently.”

“Then we should get started. Go to the lab and read the files JARVIS pulls up. Jay – get us everything there is to know on soulmarks. I’ll be up in a bit. I need to make sure the Hawk doesn’t burn down my kitchen.”

Tony didn’t wait for Bruce, going into the kitchen and making certain Clint could see his face while they talked. He waited until Bruce shook his head and left before asking the real questions, gesturing to the pad so there couldn’t be any misinterpretation. “Guess you’re so repulsed by the idea of a billionaire genius devilishly handsome man touching you that you don’t even want to check to see if I’m your soulmate?”

“Only nutters believe in soulmates,” Clint typed back with a teasing smirk. “It’s about as believable as aliens.”

“Now that’s just insulting,” Tony quipped back. “I know plenty of good nutters who don’t care a whit about aliens.”

Clint’s smirk transformed into a small smile. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up, Tony, but I don’t need false hope. You can’t be my soulmate. You’re getting married, remember? To Pepper.”

“So? Is there some rule that says I can’t have you both? I’m sure Pep wouldn’t mind. Might relax her a bit if I had a bodyguard. Hey – hey – hey!” He interrupted himself, fingers snapping. “That’s your new job. My bodyguard. SHIELD can’t move you if you’re on a mission, am I right?”

“Now who’s being insulting?”

“Look, unless I’m way off neither of us knows how this works.” Clint nodded agreement at the slight pause the dark-haired man gave, half focused on the man’s mouth to follow his words and half on the tablet typing it out on the screen. “So, first, we check to see if I have a matching mark. If I do, we go from there. If not – well, if not then I’m sorry, but I still think Pep wouldn’t be opposed to you joining us.”

Clint sighed. “I don’t want to know, not right now. My wife just died, Tony. Can’t you for once not be a selfish bastard and just take things one at a time? I need slow right now.”

“Funny. You didn’t strike me as the slow sort. You’re, what, 35 ish? Tops? And you have a seven year old child. Not exactly chaste, Legolas.”

“Loki screwed with my head, remember?” Clint typed back, his face hard. “How do I know he’s not still screwing with me? How do I know this isn’t another sick joke from some half-forgotten god?”

“Ok,” Tony said. “Hard to argue with that. Stupid, but not entirely unwarranted. So, you stay here and do what you need to. I’ll file the missing persons report for Laura and report the wreck of your house to the cops. What district am I calling?”

Clint closed his eyes for a moment then rattled off the name of a small farming community in Maryland. Tony frowned at it. “Didn’t think you had any southern in your accent, but okay. We’re ignoring that you killed the other guys, right? Mission protocol, SHIELD-eyes only?”

Clint slumped.

“Right – I’ll just make those calls.” 

* * *

“He doesn’t want to know,” Tony huffed, a wrench tapping his palm as he paced the lab. “I mean, he _actually_ doesn’t want to know.”

“Who doesn’t want to know what?” Bruce asked, skimming over the notes he’d taken so far on soulmarks. So little research had been done, he hardly had a page. They’d ruled out chemical reaction and could identify these marks from tattoos. Possibly hormonal, triggering a birthmark-like staining of the skin. Maybe. Given what they knew of Asgard and aliens, Bruce wasn’t willing to rule out magic.

“Barton. He doesn’t want to know if I suddenly have a matching soulmark. I mean, the only common thread in _all_ the research is that they happen in pairs after skin-to-skin contact – and I’m not quite so willing to rule out chemical reaction based on that! – so that means someone out there matches him. I think I should be insulted but I’m still stuck on the fact that he doesn’t want to know.”

“Do you want to have a matching mark?”

Tony shrugged. “I mean, think of the research possibilities! It’s obviously an under-studied field. With all the lab equipment we have here we could totally debunk half the myths in – say – an afternoon.”

Bruce gave him a flat look.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay, three days tops.”

“So what you’re saying is you want a lab rat.”

“If I wanted a lab rat I’d go to one of the suppliers. Mice are better analogs anyways. Is that why you have the jolly green giant? Wrong test subjects?”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose under glasses. “I feel like you’re avoiding the question, but I fail to see when I became your therapist.”

“You know I saw some blood in Barton’s ear earlier,” Tony said, hoping to deflect the conversation.

Bruce gaped at him. “Why didn’t you say something? He needs to be in medical now!”

“You do realize he’s going to hide in the ceiling vents if he knows you’re coming?”

“Tony, he could be _seriously hurt_. The kind of hurt that doesn’t heal – and could be fatal.”

“Really?” Tony asked. “I didn’t think it looked that bad. He was acting pretty normal, actually.”

“Since when is bleeding out your ears nor- no, wait. Don’t answer that.”

While Bruce ran off to corner the hawk and drag him down to medical - hopefully curbing any urges to go green, Tony didn’t need to do any more remodeling - Tony continued to stare at the lab table, his face set in a frown.

“JARVIS?” he said, suddenly in motion again. “Pull up all the footage we have on Barton. Any missions, the alien attack, and anything since. All sources, not just ours.”

“And what is our objective, sir?”

“We’ve got quite a few,” Tony said. “Keep the lab locked, but warn me if someone wants in. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”


	2. Match

Pepper Potts woke at precisely 5:30 in the morning, groaned, and shuffled out of bed to pad on bare feet to the kitchen to start the coffee maker. Her and coffee had a love-hate relationship most days, but this was one of those days that she needed the boost. She’d been absolutely  _ stupid _ the night before and stayed up late to finish reading those reports (work should not extend after work hours, she reminded herself. Again.) so now she only had a few hours sleep and there was a potentially disastrous meeting with operations at 9. Apparently someone had got it in their fool head to under-order production of materials and now they had to scramble to make things right. And then there was the meeting with Tony at 7:30 to try and get him to attend the meeting at 9. What a mess. 

Sometimes she hated being given the CEO position, but then she reminded herself that it was a huge show of trust from Tony and he just did not do that. Not ever.

The coffee maker finished gurgling and Pepper poured out the disgustingly bitter brown liquid that would breathe life into her too-tired body. Her  _ brain _ hurt from those reports.

A few swallows and she had her tablet on the counter, scrolling through with just the soft glow of the screen lighting the apartment kitchen. She frowned at the late-night rush deliveries to the tower. Just what was Tony up to? A crib? He’d assured her there were no love-children out there, and no possibility of any, and they’d been together-

Oh, wait. Right. The blonde guy with the great arms. She really should remember his name; his last name reminded her of a TV show from when she was a kid. Bellows? Barron? Barton. That was it. Probably Barton. He’d shown up with his kids and  _ gods _ she was going to need more coffee to get through the day. She was normally great with names. She’d gotten an alert from JARVIS while she was still awake and agreed to take a delivery upstairs for him when she arrived at the tower. 

She yawned, checking for anything else that needed to be taken care of when she got in. The normal reports had all arrived, and she could check those on the drive in. No flashing red alerts were showing, though JARVIS had sent her a notice that apparently Mr. Barton (she’d gotten it right, at least!) was deaf and JARVIS would translate until Tony finished making him new hearing aids.

That was odd. Tony only allowed Avengers into the tower, and if Barton was who she thought he was, he was an assassin. How could an assassin be deaf? Wasn’t that a huge weakness?

With a small apology to Tony’s efforts at a search engine, she did a google search to see what she could find on deafness. She wasn’t surprised to see information on sign language, a bit more surprised to see that some people could get amazingly proficient at lip reading, and disappointed to see that even ‘proficient’ lip readers weren’t very accurate until after they’d gotten to know someone. Apparently lip reading was based not only off of lip and face motion but also body language and context, so it was unique to each person. Which to her sounded like a lot of making stuff up.

She got enough of that from Tony.

Her phone beeped another alarm and Pepper stood to get her shower. Time to face another day. And if Tony asked her to take care of the baby she was totally saying no. And asking JARVIS for pictures.

* * *

“What are you doing, Tony?” Bruce asked, watching the black-haired man make tiny alterations to an incredibly small circuit board with tweezers.

“I would have thought that would be obvious.”

Bruce scoffed. “Not the hearing aids,” he scolded. “I meant why are you still in your lab. You haven’t slept for three days.”

“How do you know that? You’ve only been here a few hours.”

“JARVIS told me.”

Tony directed an irritated glance upward. “Traitor,” he accused.

“My apologies, sir, but Doctor Banner did ask and I was not aware I should be withholding information from him.” Despite the words, the tone of the AI was smug. Tony had programmed it to learn, he just hadn’t expected the program to pick up on all the mother-henning Pepper did.

“You’re getting an attitude, JARVIS,” Tony told the ceiling in a warning tone, knowing JARVIS wouldn’t stop no matter what he said. Pepper wouldn’t either.

“As you say, sir.”

“Tony, don’t ignore me,” Bruce said, cutting into the conversation. “You know it won’t turn out well.”

“You gonna turn big and green on me?” Tony asked, throwing a tiny screwdriver to the side.

“No, but I do have access to drugs - including sedatives - and I’m enough of a doctor to know how to use them.”

“How’d you get in here, anyways?” Tony returned, mouth turned down in a pout. “I had the lab put on lockdown.”

Bruce gave him a long, searching look. “You let me in, remember?”

He didn’t, actually, but that was unimportant. When he got focused on a project he often gave JARVIS commands without remembering them later. That’s why the AI had a built in recording device, just in case Tony needed to review his orders - or his research. “Not important,” Tony said quickly to cover his slip. “I’m almost finished here. It’s too large, of course, but not bad for a first model. Once I figure out how to get it all working together I can work on scaling it down. Right now half the blasted thing would have to fit around his ear. Ugly little bugger, isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for Bruce to answer. “So how is our resident Hawk? Still alive, I take it?”

“Yeah, he went back to bed once the baby - Nathe? - anyway, once I looked over his ears and the baby was asleep he went back to sleep. That was a while ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still exhausted. So are you.”

“I thought you knew I’m an insomniac.”

“Even insomniacs have to sleep sometime.”

“And eventually I will. Once I finish this model and get started on the new crib.”

“New crib?” Bruce asked. 

“I’m adding in motion sensors, at the very least. Not really sure what else a biohazard baby needs.”

“He probably needs you to talk to his father first,” Bruce said bluntly. 

“Not really in the mood, in case you didn’t notice.”

“So that’s it, then?” Bruce asked, turning back to the same topic Tony was trying to avoid. “You invite him to your tower, report the incident to the  _ cops _ instead of SHIELD, and then lock yourself in your dungeon without even telling him how long he’s welcome?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tony said, sniffing a bit and raising a hand to rub some dust off of his face. “He’s staying for the foreseeable future. Unless some villain decides to try and tear up the tower again, in which case I am totally kicking their ass. This place was not cheap to rebuild.”

“Does he know that?”

Tony frowned, looking up from the small device with a look of utter confusion on his face. “Why  _ wouldn’t _ he stay? Is he missing something? JARVIS, you are getting Barton whatever he needs, right?”

“Mister Barton has yet to ask for anything more than a few baby supplies, sir,” JARVIS said. “As of this moment he is helping young Mister Cooper with a math worksheet while Miss Lila practices spelling her name. Mister Nathaniel is in Mister Barton’s lap, laughing at-” JARVIS hesitated. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not sure what the baby is laughing at. Mister Barton, however, seems to be dividing his attention well between the three children. Despite his missing hearing aides, there doesn’t appear to be any trouble.”

“There, you see?” Tony asked. “A perfect fucking family. Well, not quite perfect, but I’m working on getting the missing piece back for them. All he needs is his ears back and that scene up there could probably be the Avenger’s Christmas card. Wait, I thought you said he went back to bed?”

“He did - when I finished checking him over four hours ago. I assumed he’d still be asleep.”

“Mister Barton woke when his children did, approximately twenty minutes ago. They had cereal for breakfast and settled down to wait for everyone else to wake up,” JARVIS said. 

“Let him know he doesn’t need to wait for us. We’re in the lab, so he won’t bug us.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to finish this earpiece.”

Bruce sighed. “Clint needs closure more than he needs to hear.”

“He got closure,” Tony said, dropping some safety glasses over his eyes and lighting up a blow torch. “Avengers-style.” He touched the blow torch down to the earpiece to weld the last pieces together.

He hadn’t expected the tiny hearing aid to shoot across the room and take down the TV monitor. 

“Huh,” he said, staring at the damage. “Guess I’m scrapping that layout. JARVIS, make a note to heat-test all of these before we actually stick one in Barton’s ear. I doubt his brain will hold up half as well as that monitor.”

“Duly noted, sir.”

“Tony,” Bruce said, face pale. “Tell me you’ll take more precautions.”

“I am taking precautions,” Tony counted. “I am the precautious king of precautions.”

“One, that’s not a thing, and two - that could have been your gut.”

“I’ll run some scans to see what caused the reaction,” Tony said, shaking his head and acting like Bruce had just handed him the largest chore in the lab. “You’re such a worrywart.”

“Get some sleep,” Bruce insisted. 

Tony huffed, then looked at the sparking monitor. “Okay, yeah, maybe I need a nap.”

* * *

Pepper stepped into the lab expecting to see Tony hiding behind Butterfingers or Dum-E, avoiding the meeting he’d thought he no longer needed to attend. Instead she found Bruce reviewing what looked like research papers. “Tony isn’t in the lab?” she asked. 

Bruce shook his head, taking off his glasses. “I had him take a nap when JARVIS told me how long he’d been up.”

“Oh,” she answered, surprised. “And he listened?”

“Pretty sure he’s just cat-napping until you go get him, but you look like you’re going somewhere he probably shouldn’t be when he’s sleep deprived.”

“Tony in a room full of accountants with little sleep? He wouldn’t have a bank account left. I should probably thank you, but I don’t think you did it for his finances.”

“Nah, the guy nearly shot himself with a hearing aid this morning. Figured it was better for everyone if he just got some sleep.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

Pepper let out a slow breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Well thanks for watching out for him,” she said. “I appreciate it.” Bruce just shrugged, so she pressed on: “How are things going otherwise?”

“Barton’s with his kids on his floor, and Steve hasn’t come back yet. Since I don’t think he had a mission, he’s probably chasing down leads on his friend.”

“And what about you?”

Bruce shrugged. “Same as ever, I guess. I’m still here.”

There wasn’t much for Pepper to say to that, so she stopped trying. “I dropped off Clint’s order on the community floor; he may want it soon since I think it has baby food in it. Would you mind taking it up for me?”

“Why don’t you?”

Pepper’s mouth turned in a half-frown. “It’s basically his apartment and I haven’t been invited yet. I don’t want to impose. Besides, if I want to get to my next meeting in time I should probably leave soon. Something took out three traffic lights last night and it’s almost a standstill out there.”

Bruce gave another of his almost-shrugs and looked away. “See you around, then.”

Pepper waved goodbye and left with her phone her hand, glancing through the display and wondering about damage control. Without Tony there, Smithers would be more beligerant - he didn’t women should be CEOs - and Markley would be more quiet. Markley hated confrontation, and Smithers had told him to shut up one too many times. Which sucked, because Markley had some really good creative solutions sometimes. Maybe she’d get lucky and Trent would show up. John Trent was steady, and usually more level-headed than Smithers. 

As JARVIS took her back to the main lobby she frowned, wondering why the accounting department was always filled with arrogant old men who could never agree on anything.

* * *

Clint watched Tony watch his children and bit back a sigh. Tony did not understand people who did not want to know. Oh, he understood people being stupid (at least compared to him) and he even understood ignoring things to a certain degree. What he couldn’t understand was not wanting to even try to know. 

Bad logic? Faulty logic? He got that. He’d shred you to pieces for it, but he understood it. 

Clint knew about this little quirk of the resident genius, but when he’d said he didn’t want to know if they were soulmarked he’d forgotten just how much that would irk the man. Less than 24 hours - less than  _ 12  _ \- since he’d said that and Tony was lifting his shirt to wipe off sweat, showing off a bare stomach. Or tugging his shirt away where a thread had snagged on the reactor, showing a hint of collarbone. 

Tony was trying, and Clint appreciated that, but really. One day someone was going to have to teach that man patience. 

“So why didn’t you say anything about the hearing aids?” Tony asked. The kids were eating lunch and something had drawn Tony into the kitchen space. It wasn’t food - Tony was drinking a smoothie and not eating - but Clint read his body language well enough to know it was unusual. He was too - observant? Not a word usually associated with Tony Stark unless he was sciencing.

“It wasn’t important,” the blonde answered. He didn’t really want to talk about it. People always got funny about his ears.

“Seriously? You don’t tell the tech expert and person designing your new gear about that? I could have totally fixed you up a lot sooner! I’m an  _ engineer _ !”

“I don’t need  _ fixing _ ,” Clint all but growled, that word hitting a sore spot. No one at SHIELD paid the archer any mind, but one encounter with Stark and he was sensitive again. Shit. Dreams ‘R Us would be playing the Twisted Circus again tonight, and he hadn’t had that particular nightmare in a few weeks.

Tony, for his part, looked equal parts confused and hurt. “So you don’t want an uplink to JARVIS?”

Clint stared at the other man, wide eyed, and it took a moment to realize that  _ fixing  _ from Tony Stark meant something completely different than what TrickShot and the RingMaster had meant. Clint couldn’t help it; he laughed. He almost had tears in his eyes. It wasn’t even all that funny, and Tony was giving him an odd look, but for a moment all Clint could think of was TrickShot’s  _ We’ll fix you _ and Barney’s  _ He’s not an engine _ and RingMaster’s  _ Not yet _ getting completely blindsided by Tony’s  _ But I make the best toys! _

“Mister Stark was being serious,” JARVIS typed out on the screen next to his hand. “And I should warn you: if there are any upgrades you do not want you should tell him now. He’s already begun the process of designing prototypes.”

“Only you, Tony,” Clint laughed. 

“Only me what?”

“Nevermind,” Clint said, still chuckling. It wasn’t really funny. No one would get it. Well, maybe Barney, but his brother was gone. Just like Laura. The thought sobered him, and Clint took a deep breath. “Sure, go ahead. Connect my ears to your AI. Next time I have a God in my head telling me to kill the good guys, he can remind me that they’re friendlies.”

“You don’t think there’s going to be a next time for that, do you?” Stark asked, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. “I mean, how many wack job gods can there be out there? Doesn’t matter, I guess. We can see why he couldn’t perform with me, maybe you just need a metal chest plate or something. Your body armor is too light anyways, I don’t get how you can stand being so exposed like that. I mean, I used to think I was the biggest target on the team, but you? You’re almost asking them to come to you.”

The kids had finished their meals and were putting the plates on the counter. Clint had made them sandwiches, which was about all he could make from the supplies kept here. “I need to go to the store,” he said with a sigh. “Can you watch-“

“We’ll go with you daddy!” Lila interrupted. “Please?”

“We promise to be good,” Cooper put in. “Even baby Nathe promises.”

“Really? The baby?” Tony asked. “I wasn’t aware it could talk.”

Clint wasn’t looking at him or the screen, so he didn’t catch the comment. “You don’t want to stay in the tower and watch tv and play with Uncle Tony and Uncle Bruce?”

Twin head shakes were his answer. He sighed. “Okay, but Nathaniel has to stay here,” Clint insisted. “And you two have to do  _ exactly  _ what I say. No running off, and no yelling or screaming. If I tell you no, I mean no. And if I say to run, you run.”

This time he got nods and almost identical “yes daddy”s. 

“JARVIS - call Happy. He can drive us.”

“Us?” Clint asked, catching the end of Tony’s order after ordering both his kids to go get their shoes and put them on. “Sorry - I didn’t catch that?”

“I thought Happy could drive us,” Tony repeated.

“You want to come with?”

“Figured I could help out. Since, you know, I haven’t finished your earpieces yet. Also, my tower. I should have final say over all gadgets in my home. I mean, that kid looks like, what, an RC truck kid? Seriously. Sub. Par. I can build him ten better in my sleep.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Clint said. “I - Fury warned us when we considered pulling you in that you don’t like being around crowds. He gave it a fancy PTSD label, but I figured it was pretty normal. I mean, you were kidnapped and tortured and all that. Besides, I need you to stay here with Dr. Banner and watch Nathaniel. Between the two of you and JARVIS, you’ll be fine.”

“Oh please, Bruce can handle-”

“If he goes green? If he  _ needs _ to go green because something happens?”

“I think you’re getting paranoid.”

“I was always paranoid. Obviously, I haven’t been paranoid enough. Besides, you have an AI in your house monitoring you 24/7. I don’t really think you have much room to talk.”

Tony’s eyes darted to the baby laying on the floor and happily gumming a bare foot. “You sure this is a good idea? We could get Pepper to take the munchkins shopping, and JARVIS can order just about anything.”

“It’s not the same. I need to do this.” He needed to not feel useless. To not feel like a waste of space because he couldn’t hear. 

“I don’t have a great history with small, fragile things,” Tony admitted. “I might break him.”

“Tony,” Clint said, drawing the other man’s eyes back to his face. “I trust you. And despite what my head says, I trust Bruce.”

“Fine,” Tony said. “But I’m still calling Pepper.”

* * *

“What do you mean, there’s no schematics for the hawk’s bow and quiver?” Tony asked, voice sharp. First Pepper had left him on his own and now this idiot was giving him the runaround? “And if you say you don’t know anything about the arrows either I will make sure Fury demotes you.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but Hawkeye is very specific about his weapons. We only supply him guns. No one at SHIELD’s R&D has worked with him on his specialized weapons. The last time someone tried he only lasted two days before he had a nervous breakdown. Kev still shakes whenever the hawk is close by.”

“Where do his weapons come from, then?” Tony demanded of the man on the screen. Clint had written that note, but surely he didn’t make  _ all _ his arrows. The production time alone was enormous. And the materials needed… no little  _ homestead _ would have the equivalent of a blacksmith’s forge. A highly precise mold so that the arrows would be properly balanced, identical each time. 

Then again, Hawkeye did have a tendency to grab the arrows he’d used, clean them, and put them back in his quiver. Maybe there was a reason for that beyond just running out of ammo.

“To be  _ completely _ honest, sir, no one here knows, and we don’t really care. We’re only R&D. Maybe try inventory? Or accounting - someone’s paying for them, after all.”

“Fine,” Tony said. “What kind of guns do you supply him with?”

“Standard stock,” the man said. “We’ve tried a few more specialized guns on occasion, but they always end up back here with an arrow through them. I don’t see why he can’t get the guns from inventory like he does his arrows, but he always was a strange one.”

“Well thank you for being entirely useless. What about his armor?”

“His what?”

“You know, his uniform? That thing he puts on when we all suit up?”

“Oh,” the now nervous man breathed. “That.”

“Yes, that. Do you have a hearing problem? I thought Barton was the deaf one.”

“No, no, it’s just - did you say deaf?”

“And people say I have trouble focusing,” Tony muttered. “The  _ armor _ , simpleton.”

“His uniform isn’t armor. It’s not made to be. We supplied him with some light body armor when he was stationed guarding the tesseract, but Barton’s uniform is designed more to blend in to his surroundings.”

“So he’s going out there with zero protection?”

“Not zero, but he  _ is  _ an assassin. Armor is - bulky. It doesn’t blend well, and makes it harder for him to draw the bow. His uniform is made of some synthetic polymers that work by absorbing light, allowing him to hide in the shadows easier and help remove him from any camera shots. It has some basic quality to deflect impact - maybe cushion a punch or two - but it’s nowhere near armor.”

“The most highly trained marksman SHIELD has to offer and you’re sending him out in a  _ sweater _ ? That’s it. You’re fired. As of right now, Stark Industries is taking over all Avenger’s equipment development and production. I expect you to send me everything you have on all Avenger equipment, and I’ll make it better.”

“I’ll have to clear the release with Fury - “

“You didn’t to discuss Barton’s pathetic equipment. Seriously, it’s like you wanted him to die.”

A scowl crossed the man’s face, gone in an instant. “I could discuss Agent Barton’s equipment only because there’s nothing  _ to  _ release for Hawkeye. We don’t work with him.”

Tony shrugged. “Fine, keep your lies. I’ll have the information from you in two hours or I’ll break into your servers and get it myself. And if I have to do that I will be  _ very _ unhappy. So run along now and ask your Daddy nicely if you can share.”

Tony cut the connection - the man was just sputtering anyway - and turned to the baby on the blanket. It had taken both him and Bruce to get the baby to the lab. He was just gurgling away, fascinated with clenching and unclenching his fist in the lion’s fur. With the monitor still hanging limply on the wall, Tony decided it was best  _ not _ to actually build anything. He didn’t want to accidentally kill it, even if it was a biohazard.

“No luck?” Bruce asked, coming out of the washroom and drying his hands. Dum-E had sprayed him with the fire extinguisher, but the good doctor had only laughed about it and gone to clean up.

“Something fishy is going on,” Tony said, eyes still on the tiny human invading his workspace. “I can get the whole history of Captain America’s shield, and at least practical application notes for the widow’s bite if not the complete design, but ask about a hawk and suddenly I’m facing a gaping black hole.”

“Are you really surprised?” Bruce asked.

“Should I not be?”

“Clint was brainwashed by Loki,” the doctor pointed out. “Even knowing in their heads that it wasn’t really Clint, a lot of people in SHIELD lost friends and family because of what his body did - and brainwashed or not, Clint is damn good at what he does. There’s bound to be some resentment there. Trust me, I’m sort of an expert on angry, and half of SHIELD is angry. The other half are dead.”

“So you think they’re deliberately sabotaging him? But this seems to pre-date Loki.”

Bruce shrugged. “Hard to see it now, with the kids around, but when Clint’s not watching his mouth for them he’s kind of an ass. Not on your level, but he’s done his fair share of screwing with people.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?”

“Let’s just say there’s a reason they send Natasha out to bring in agents now. I may not have been there, but SHIELD was full of gossip. You know, I  _ was _ there when the doctors looked him over to make sure Loki was out of the system. Once they discovered they couldn’t find a difference between Clint before and Clint after, they told the nurses to hide the coffee before he got to it.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy.”

“He pranks assassins for fun. If he wasn’t one himself, I’d say it sounds like he has a death wish.”

“But he is one.”

“There is that,” Bruce admitted. 

“So, back to the point, basically anyone in SHIELD could have ordered the hit on Barton and his family?”

“As far as I know.”

“Well shit. That’s one wide pool.” Then he looked at the baby. “Don’t tell your father I said that.”

“He can’t talk, Tony.”

“Are you sure?”

* * *

“Sir?” Happy said, placing a hand on Clint’s arm. The blonde turned, a questioning look on his face and one hand brushing bangs out of his little girl’s eyes. Per Stark’s instructions, Happy made certain the other man was watching his face before speaking. “Mister Stark asked me to give this to you.”

Clint took the offered credit card and note with a sinking stomach. There was no way he could pay Tony back, not right now, but it was also going to be very hard to get everything they needed without his help. All of Clint’s other contacts who might help were absolute loan sharks and Clint was not willing to expose his children to them. Frowning, he opened the folded paper.

_ Just use it, birdbrain. I’m not stupid. Everything’s being charged back to your insurance and if they don’t pay my lawyers will make sure they feel the full force of the lawsuit. Get  _ _ everything _ _. Happy will tattle if you don’t. I pay him. _

A few rocks in Clint’s gut lightened. Insurance. He hadn’t thought - well, no, he wasn’t really thinking. He was still reaching for someone who wasn’t there. As many times as Clint had been separated from his wife, even for weeks, he’d never had to face the thought that she wouldn’t be there when he got home. Or that she wouldn’t come home from one of her trips.

A tug on his shirt brought him back to the present and Clint looked down at his children. For them, he had to at least pretend that mommy was just out on another mission. He couldn’t bear to tell them that she was never coming back when he wouldn’t be able to hear when they cried. “Stay close,” he reminded them. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

They picked the cart with the red racer because Lila wanted to ride even though Cooper insisted he was big enough to walk. The store Clint had chosen had many of the basic supplies (including food), so they started with the clothing section. Clothes for the baby, Lila, Cooper, himself - he stopped himself from buying something for Laura. He had to remind himself he didn’t need to.

After the clothes were toys. Clint didn’t mind when a soccer ball made its way into the cart. Cooper wasn’t sneaky enough to get past Hawkeye. He put his foot down at the entire Barbie princess collection, though. “Just two, Lila,” he said firmly. He added a jump rope and a deck of cards to the cart and looked skeptically at the bikes. Lila would be ready soon, and would need training wheels, and Cooper liked riding around the farm. Maybe in a few weeks, when they knew where they were settling down.

When Lila sat down with her final three choices and looked about to cry over leaving either Elsa, Belle, or Merida behind Clint let out a breath and told her should could have all three if she ate all her vegetables at dinner.

Feeling a sudden urge to make things even, he let Cooper get the starter deck of Yu-Gi-Oh cards to replace the ones he’d lost. 

Down the baby supply section he picked up a bouncy chair for Nathe and wondered where to put it when Happy was suddenly there with a second cart. “Thanks,” Clint said, adding diapers, formula, bottles, a humidifier, and (after a moment’s hesitation) a pack ‘n play. Then the book aisle, smashed next to the tiny crafts and office supply section. He knelt down and looked at his kids. “You can each get one book and one activity book,” he said sternly. “That’s it, okay?”

“Mister Tony doesn’t have crayons,” Lila complained. 

“We’ll get some sweetie,” Clint said.

Brightening, the two kids raided the small half-aisle for books while Clint grabbed a Dr. Suess book for the baby. Twenty minutes later, books were chosen and both Lila and Cooper were being pushed in the cart. Clint grabbed two boxes of crayons - heads would roll if they wanted the same color at the same time - and decided enough was enough. Groceries could wait. His kids were tired.

* * *

Pepper was walking up the steps to the tower when Clint and the kids returned. She smiled at him, and greeted the children while Clint took a few bags from the back. “I’ll have the shopping delivered up,” Happy said with a smile, taking the bags from him. “You go ahead.”

Briefly Clint wondered just what everyone was smiling about, then decided it didn’t matter. Lila and Cooper needed to settle down with a movie or something before dinner or they would start to get cranky. He hoped there was something for him to fix; he hadn’t planned on skipping groceries. After he finished helping Lila up the stairs, Pepper made sure she had his gaze and said: “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied, nodding at her. He tightened his grip on Lila’s hand and snagged Cooper’s as he led them into the tower, the redhead easily keeping pace. The four of them stepped into the elevator and JARVIS took them to Clint’s floor automatically. 

“Tony’s in his lab,” Pepper said, taking a tablet from the counter and handing it to Clint. Her text was pink. “If you’d like to get these two settled, I wouldn’t mind hearing your side of the story.”

“My side?”

“Tony pretty much said you’re staying and he’s busy working. It was sorely lacking in details.” Her gaze was focused somewhere near his chin and she wasn’t quite managing to look comfortable. Clint thought for a moment, put two and two together and got at least twelve different reasons she could be uneasy, most due to his hearing. She wasn’t comfortable with his inability to hear her, and didn’t trust that he could read her lips. And probably didn’t trust him alone with children, either. Whether that was due to his ears or because he was an assassin or because he’d been mind-fucked by an alien was anyone’s guess. 

“What kind of details?” he asked, forcing his mind back on task. 

“How long you’re staying. If the kids need enrolled in school. What kind of food needs to be delivered. If there are any allergies. If your wife will be joining you. You know: details.”

So basically everything. Clint didn’t really want to get into it, especially with the kids right there, and Pepper wasn’t cleared for SHIELD missions. He would have to keep at least some of the details to himself. But he wanted to talk, even if he couldn’t hear himself speak. “Kids first,” he said. 

Pepper nodded. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

“It’s afternoon.  _ Late _ afternoon,” Clint said with a frown. 

“Trust me, there is never a bad time for coffee,” Pepper countered. “And this seems like a hot-drink kind of discussion. What about you two?” It took a moment for Clint to realize she was addressing Lila and Cooper. “Would you like some hot chocolate? I stocked up on mini marshmallows lovers.”

The two youngsters nodded, Cooper only looking a little wary. He’d been quiet ever since they’d left the house and Clint knew they’d have to talk soon.  _ Are you okay?  _ Clint signed to his son, keeping the question private. Cooper didn’t like personal questions in front of strangers. 

_ I miss Mom,  _ Cooper signed back sloppily. He was learning, and knew enough for simple conversation, but syntax and precision weren’t his strong suit. Since Clint automatically translated it to common speech in his head it wasn’t much of an issue. 

_ So do I _ , Clint signed back. He picked Lila up and set her on the couch and let Cooper climb in next to her. “You never told Miss Potts thank you.”

When he saw them speak and the redhead smile in acknowledgment as she was fixing up mugs, he moved to the tv to set up  _ Finding Nemo _ . It was one of the few movies they would sit and watch together so he had been sure to snag it as they walked by a movie display. Thankfully the bag with it was one of the first Happy brought up. With them settled he went back to Pepper and accepted the steaming mug of coffee she offered him. He leaned against the counter with the mug cradled in his hands and the tablet between them and waited for her to deliver the hot chocolate (cooled so they could drink it). It wasn’t really the best time for hot chocolate, but he could put off dinner for a half hour or so. He waited until Pepper was next to him and Nemo was flitting about the screen in small-finned eagerness before speaking up. “It’s probably better if you just ask me questions and I’ll answer as best I can,” Clint said quietly, hoping he was loud enough she could hear him. “From what you said earlier, there’s a lot of questions and I may not think of them.”

He saw Pepper nod from the corner of his eye and the first question popped on the screen: “Any allergies?” He resisted the urge to watch her mouth move and read the words, knowing it made her uncomfortable. 

“No food allergies. Cooper is allergic to poison ivy, but other than that there’s no known allergies in the family.”

“How long are you staying?”

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Thinking was important. Stark would give him and his children shelter and protection, and Stark’s lawyers would make sure Clint didn’t owe the man too much. There wasn’t much to go back to on the farm; he’d turned the horses loose, and they would wander over to his neighbor’s when they got hungry. They knew the way, and Clint had done it before when he was in a rush. The house was a ruin, and not fit to live in. Even if it was, it wasn’t safe anymore. “I guess as long as he’ll have us.”

“Probably forever then,” printed on the screen. Clint guessed it was spoken a bit bitterly, since he couldn’t see a woman happily accepting her husband bringing a master assassin into their home, but he didn’t look at her face. If he had, he would have seen the fond look she gave little Lila as she waved her arms like Nemo. “Should I enroll the kids in school?”

Clint closed his eyes again, but forced them open after a brief moment. School was a commitment, but to keep Cooper out of school was a crime. “Yeah, it’s probably best.” He’d broken the law before and hadn’t felt the slightest bit of remorse about it. He didn’t want his kids to grow up the same way. 

“What grades?”

“Cooper is in second. Lila was too young for kindergarten.”

“Preschool then?”

Clint actually turned to look at her. “What now?”

JARVIS was the one to answer. “Several local schools offer a half-day pre-kindergarten class to allow children to learn about school interactions. It is primarily recess or group playtime, followed by a snack time, and followed by a nap time. Interspersed with these are learnings, such as tying shoes with laces, coloring, and story time. It is similar to a daycare, but more highly structured.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “I guess - I guess I’ll have to think about it. They didn’t offer that at home.”

“It’s not required,” Pepper said. “But she can make friends there and have fun. Let me know what you decide.”

Clint nodded. 

“Will your wife be coming?”

Clint froze, then pulled the tablet over. “No,” he typed, keeping it simple. 

Sensing the sensitive topic, Pepper kindly diverted to a different question. “Have you always been deaf?”

Clint shook his head, wondering why she’d brought up the topic when she was stiff as a board and avoiding looking at his face. She didn’t like hearing about it, he didn’t like talking about it, this was the second time in as many days he’d had to even think about it, but the elephant in the room wouldn’t go away just because they ignored it. Besides, if she wanted uncomfortable he could  _ give _ uncomfortable. “When I was really little I could hear just fine. It was only later that I couldn’t hear very well. See, my brother and I, we had ta run away from home. Dad was a drunk, and mom wasn’t far behind most days. I’m a bit of a clumsy mess, and they’d been boxin’ my ears since I was the size of a grasshopper. Then we went to the circus and I was a clumsy mess who learned to be a clumsy mess with perfect aim, and we did shows with fireworks and all the showy booms and loud music and shi- stuff.” Right, little ears. He had to watch himself still. He didn’t exactly want his kids hearing this story. He took a deep breath and centered himself.

“I still had a little hearing left until a few days ago,” Clint continued, backing out of his ‘I don’t care’ horror story. “Something happened which caused the hearing aids to bust in my ears. Dr Banner said they basically disintegrated so there were only a few minor cuts in my ears from the sharp internal pieces, and they hadn’t cut anything important. Basically vibrated themselves apart, and rattled my head a bit. Right now I can’t hear at all, though. He thinks it’ll come back once my eardrums get over the shock. They were pretty badly damaged before, so he can’t tell for certain.”

A hand landed in the crook of his elbow. “I trust Dr Banner,” was all Pepper said on the matter. 

Well what in tarnation did that mean? “He’s not that kind of doctor, you know.”

“I thought he knew medical studies?”

“Medical, yeah, but he ain’t a people-doctor,” Clint said, slipping out of his blend-with-everyone accent again. It’d been a long day - hell, a long week - and remembering to speak with TV-smooth midwestern English was tiring when he couldn’t hear himself. “He’s a lab-doctor. And he knows it, and I know it, and I ain’t got the slightest clue why you trust him about my ears.”

“You don’t?”

“ ‘course  _ I  _ do, but I haven’t trusted a normal doctor in years. I know I ain’t normal.”

The look Pepper gave him was three parts annoyed, one part amused, and one part skeptical. “About as normal as that accent?”

Clint thought over his words and shrugged. “Everyone notices slang when it doesn’t fit in,” he said, speaking slowly to make sure he reigned in his tone and enunciated clearly. “Kind of hard to be a spy when everyone knows you’re from out of town.”

“How long does it take you to blend your accent?”

Clint shrugged. “Depends. I usually know in the first few minutes if I can or not. If I can’t, I just sign and talk really loud. People get the hint. They also start saying a lot of stuff they shouldn’t.”

Pepper snorted. “Seriously? Because they see you can’t hear?”

“Apparently deaf men tell no tales.”

“That is an absolutely  _ terrible  _ joke.”

Clint huffed out a small laugh at the disgusted look on her face. “The deaf don’t talk?”

“Even worse.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m deaf.”

“Ok, deaf is not a replacement for dead, even if it is slightly better in that case,” Pepper said, but she was smiling a bit and looking him in the face now. 

“Seriously, though, right now it’s worse than ever. I used to be able to hear something. Not much, but loud enough booms got through. Everything became background hums. When I first got my hearing aids, the doc said it was around 70 or 80 percent hearing loss in each ear, or something like that. Right now I can’t hear a thing.”

“Sounds scary.”

Clint had to admit (but only to himself) that she was right. For the first few hours he’d been busy packing the kids into the car and fleeing, then he’d moved on to shaking for a bit while he drove. He’d gotten that under control but the urge to go somewhere and hide until he shook apart was still there under everything. “I’ll deal,” he said instead. “It was always a risk.”

“Where’s the third member of the trio?” Pepper asked. “The baby?”

“With Tony and Bruce,” Clint said, looking down. As much as he loved his kids, he was grateful for the small break. “They’ll probably be back soon. He’ll be hungry here shortly.”

* * *

Pepper waited until they were alone on Tony’s floor to ask: “What are you thinking?”

“That it’s probably too soon for me to sleep again?”

“I’m sure I can take care of  _ that _ , but I meant about Clint.”

“Did you see the soulmate mark?”

“That what?”

Tony went to the bar and poured them both a glass of wine. “He probably wouldn’t tell you because I think he’s trying to pretend it doesn’t exist, but that spiffy tattoo on his shoulder just appeared yesterday. It’s a soulmate mark.”

“Tony those are myths. Fairytales. Stories for those with an incredible romantic streak.” She took the glass of wine from him and took a sip. “That’s not to say soulmates aren’t real, but the universe isn’t going to be helpful enough to give you matching tattoos.” She kicked off her shoes and set the StarkPad she’d been carrying on the table. 

“Want to see the footage?” Tony asked. “We have proof.”

“Proof?” she asked. “Of what?”

“Of a magically appearing tattoo. We actually got it on security feed. That alone could push science to further investigate the phenomenon.”

Pepper shook her head. “Okay, say I buy into this insanity. Who’s his soulmate?”

Tony poured. “I don’t know. He doesn’t want me to check and see if I am. I mean, to a certain extent I can’t avoid it and I’ve checked all the obvious spots, but it’s not like I keep full mirrors in the bathrooms. I can’t see everything.”

“Are you the only candidate?”

Tony gulped down another mouthful of wine. Not his drink of choice, but Pepper enjoyed it more than the scotch he would have preferred. “I know that this is going to sound selfish, but I want to be even if I’m not. I want  _ us _ to be. You know, you and me.”

Pepper frowned, a flash of hurt crossing her face followed by confusion. “Why?”

“Because all the other candidates are dead. And I don’t know if he can survive knowing he killed his soulmate.”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper said, her voice half consoling and half crying. Since becoming Ironman, Pepper had really started to wonder if she could put up with him rushing off to save the world. The battle against the Chintauri had nearly broken her heart. She still woke up sometimes thinking Tony hadn’t made it back. She’d nearly broken it off, and then he would always turn around and do something like this. He’d prove that under all that flailing around he really did have a heart. She padded across the room on bare feet and hugged him. “It’s not your job to save everyone’s heart, you know? Just mine.”

“And maybe Hawkeye’s?”

She pulled back and gave a small half-laugh. “Ok, maybe Hawkeye’s, but we have to talk about this. What does it mean if you’re his soulmate, what does it mean if you’re not, and where does that leave us?”

“What do you mean, where does that leave us? We’re still us, right?”

“I don’t know. Are we? Or does this thing with Clint mean it’s you and him?”

Tony shifted, a frown forming across his eyebrow. “Well I was kind of hoping that it would evolve from me and you to me and you and him, but I guess I’d settle with me and him and me and you if he makes you uncomfortable.”

Thankfully Pepper spoke enough ‘Tony’ to follow what he was trying to say. He wanted a mythical threesome, but if they couldn’t do that he’d settle for being shared. “And if you have to choose?”

“You’re making me pick? You’d leave me?” Tony looked panicked. 

“I’m not saying that. But I have to think about this Tony, and you have to consider the possibility that either me or Clint won’t be comfortable with the arrangement. You have to consider the press and the tabloids too, because like it or not you are in the public eye often and marrying both of us would be illegal. And cheating on your wife or husband or soulmate or whatever we end up doing is not going to make for good headlines. Stark Industries stock will fall, at least for a time, while those with strong religious morals rush to sell their shares before God plummets our company into the Dark age.”

“Now that is a truly ridiculous thought.”

“I agree,” Pepper said. “But not everyone else will.”

“You know I’m all for defying the man, and we have enough funds to recover from a drop in stock prices.”

“Not really,” Pepper said, moving away. She grabbed her wine glass again and sat on the couch. JARVIS helpfully started some soothing classical piece she couldn’t name at a volume so low she almost couldn’t hear it. “Rebuilding the tower is expensive, and all the funds we put into helping to rebuild the city made a sizable dent in your bank accounts. And when the city asked you to give money to those who had lost someone in the battle, you doubled what they asked for. At this rate, by the end of next year you won’t be a multi-billionaire anymore.” The attack was still fresh, only two months had passed and they were still trying to rebuild. Funds had been spread out, but there weren’t enough workers for all the repairs. In order to get the tower mostly-rebuilt, Tony had flown in construction workers from other parts of the US and housed them in the low-security offices (under JARVIS’ watch), and then let them stay if they wanted to help with the crews helping the city. As a result, the tower was the most repaired building in the area, though it still had some holes. The floors for the Avengers had been top priority after stability, then the labs. Now they were just working on the offices.

“It was the right thing to do,” Tony said. It had cost a lot to house all those sweaty construction workers, but he couldn’t think of a single circumstance where he wouldn’t have done the same thing. His tower had helped bring those things into the world, his money could help rebuild.

“I’m not arguing with you. I’m just pointing out the consequences of it,” Pepper said. “We have to make up the loss.”

Tony nodded. “What if we pulled in another line of business? I’m building a new hearing aid for Barton. A simplified version of that could be sold to the medical industry. Maybe find one of the current producers and sell it to them for a percentage of the sale price. If it doesn’t have the Stark name on it, then it’d be safe from the wackos.”

“It’s a start. Medical side deals with insurance, but if we deal only with the manufacturer then we should be able to avoid that complication. I’ll meet with the research team and set up a think tank to find a good company and work through logistics. JARVIS, can you set me a reminder?”

“Already done, Miss Potts,” the AI said. 

“Are we thinking just hearing aids, or are we also considering other medical equipment?” Pepper asked. “I know you have a screen inside that helmet of yours; it wouldn’t be a great leap to think you’re considering lenses and eyewear.”

“Just hearing aids for now,” Tony said, shrugging. “If it works out, then I’ll have a starting point for glasses, maybe look into something for Fury so he doesn’t have to wear that eyepatch all the time. I think it’s actually embedded in his skin, you know. It’s really freaky to look at.”

“Freaky?” 

“Yes, freaky.”

“Since when do you use words like ‘freaky’?”

“Since I’ve been hoping you’ll stay the night and get freaky with me in my bed?”

Pepper smirked. “Well, I guess maybe 12% of the night won’t be too bad.”

“Ouch,” Tony said, wincing. “And I am still paying for that. How am I still paying for that? I built us a floor. Penthouse suite, Avengers the best security we could ask for. It doesn’t have to be just 12%.”

“I know,” she said, turning on the couch to look at Tony fully. “But we have other things to think about. Don’t think you’re going to distract me from this soulmate business.”

“You’re wearing the wrong dress for that.”

In the end they didn’t  _ really _ get to talk about it, but Pepper realized as they curled together that she had sparked some ideas. Then she saw a dark spot in the middle of Tony’s lower back and her stomach sank.

* * *

“Sir, there is an Agent Gibbs here to speak to Agent Barton,” JARVIS said, voice coming over the speakers and interrupting the billionaires work on the sonic arrow theory. 

“Shield?” Tony asked. “Took them long enough. We reported Laura missing days ago.”

“Actually, no, sir. He’s with NCIS.”

“Who’s that?”

“Naval criminal investigative service. Sometimes referred to as ‘navy cops’. It seems Laura Barton was the daughter of a Navy captain.”

“Great. JARVIS, erase the logs of Clint’s communication through you and let Clint know you have. From now on, don’t store anything that’s just him talking to us. Don’t leave any trace it was ever there.” Especially that report which was basically confessing to murder. Justified murder, but still. Some no-name government agency wouldn’t know that. 

“Expecting trouble, sir?”

“Is there more than one agent from an acronym agency in my lobby?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then yes, I’m expecting trouble. How close are you to finishing the prototype for his new earpieces?” Tony asked as he slipped an almost invisible earwig in his ear. 

“Nearly completed. Approximately 10 more minutes needed to finish production.”

“Ok, keep working on that and deliver to me directly when you’re done. Switch to earpiece audio only, screen for Clint until he gets his. Has Pepper left yet?”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS’ voice came to him directly in his ear.

“Call her back. Emergency protocol. And monitor those agents. I want to know if they do anything funny.”

“On it, sir. Shall I have the front desk send them to the community floor?”

“Yeah. Yeah, do that. I’ll head up. Relay everything we say to Barton on the sly.”

* * *

“Mister Barton?” asked an older man with more than a few grey strands in his hair. 

“No, actually. The name’s Tony Stark. Seriously? Nothing? It used to have my name on the side of this building. Great big glowing letters?” Obviously the man didn’t get out much if the unimpressed look on his face was anything to go by. “I live here, actually, with Barton and the rest of the Avengers. I’ve saved the world a few times, guess we all have, though only once together. You’re not from New York, are you? Would you like a drink?”

“No, I’d like to speak to Mister Barton.”

Tony sometimes hated the way he could run at the mouth, but in this case it was a good thing. “The Hawk’s upstairs making sure the munchkins have a babysitter. And his names Clint, by the way, not Mister.”

“We still need to speak with him.”

“Fine, but I’m going to have to see some sort of ID or something if you’re here to talk about that hellhole of a mission he just came back from. We might call him a hawk but that doesn’t mean he can actually fly, you know.”

“Mister Barton was on a mission recently?” That was the other unknown agent that had come up with the older man. Dark hair, cocky tilt to his stance, and an edge of energy. 

“Yeah, holed up here when he came home and his house was blown up. Or something like that anyways. We made a report to the police. Shouldn’t you have all this on file somewhere?” 

Gibbs held up his badge, then flipped it to show his NCIS ID. The other agent with him did the same. Anthony something. JARVIS would run the IDs. “A mission for who?” Anthony asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You’re slow, aren’t you? Is it, like, deliberate or do you just not pay attention? You know what, don’t answer that. See, the thing is, I just found out some really interesting information about Barton and I’d really like you to investigate before Fury comes down and classifies the whole thing. So until then you have most of my attention.”

“Just most of it?” Gibbs asked. 

“I’m still running a few equations in the back of my head, so yeah. Most of it.”

“So who is Clint Barton to you.”

“As of last night? My soulmate. Well, I guess it’s been a few days actually, but I found out last night. We saw his mark not long after he got here, but he didn’t want to know who matched him right away. I’d looked, of course, but my soulmark isn’t some place I’d see on my own. Not right away at least.”

The sound of the tablet clattering to the floor was not completely unexpected. “You - you!”

“Me, me. Yes, me,” Tony teased, making sure to face Clint since he no longer had the tablet. “Look, did you really expect me not to see it? Yours is pretty obvious, there was probably a, what, 87% chance that I would see it without any effort at all? Well, I guess it did take Pepper to find it, but it was only a matter of time, really.”

“ _ Tony _ ,” Barton growled. “Not. Funny.”

“I wasn’t joking. Did it sound like I was joking?” he asked as he turned a bit to look at the other agents. 

“You’re getting married. To Pepper.”

“So? I still don’t see why that’s a problem.”

Clint bent to pick up the tablet and made a motion with his hand that Tony thought was pretty impolite. 

He wasn’t expecting Gibbs to start making funny motions with his hands too. “Woah, woah, woah! What’s going on here?”

“Sign language,” Gibbs said. “Did you miss that your boyfriend is deaf?”

“I’m repairing his hearing aids, and he can read lips! No one mentioned sign language. This is unfair. That’s it, I’m learning it. JARVIS, program it for tonight. I’ll need a working understanding by morning.”

“You need to sleep,” Barton said, his voice that odd candace he used when he couldn’t hear, just as JARVIS whispered an affirmative to Tony. “No more three day binges. Barton told me what happened to the monitor down there.”

“I’ve done worse,” the billionaire admitted. JARVIS calmly chimed in his ear that they were ready, and Tony went to the bar where they were delivered. There weren’t many places in the building where his AI could transfer items produced in the lab, and he could only move small items. Mostly they were locations where he kept IronMan gadgets. JARVIS had delivered the bracelets here once for the Mark 7; a few hearing aids were no big deal. “Finally, the next prototype!” he said, holding up the small devices and walking them over. “I’m trying for a stronger material so they don’t shatter again. Also, a constant uplink to JARVIS, GPS tracking, and wireless radio. JARVIS can connect you to any nearby network- what?” Tony finally cut himself off when Barton just stared at him indulgently. 

“Nothing,” Clint said, holding out his hand. “I’ll try them. Hand them over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing fast and loose both with what Tony can make hearing aids do and with all medical aspects of being deaf. Please no rotten tomatoes. If something is off - especially if it's jarringly off - please let me know. I'm wagering Stark tech can do a lot more than what I've experienced.


	3. Weird Tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ.
> 
> I struggled for a while with this chapter, and it probably shows. Clint's past in this is a jumbled mess of Marvel and what I need for this story, so don't expect things to line up perfectly.
> 
> That being said, Clint's past in this story is **dark**. You will get a taste of that in this chapter. I will warn for **explicit character death** (though not of the main character), **torture** , and a bit of Iron Man 3 leaking into my plot. How dare it.

“So what do you think, Boss?” Tony Dinozzo asked as the other Tony tried to fit small devices in Barton’s ears and got swatted away.

“About what?”

“He guilty?”

“Well he’s certainly guilty of something,” Gibbs said with a bit of bite. “Find someone over twenty who isn’t and I’d be surprised.” He watched carefully as the other pair interacted, testing and adjusting the hearing aids in a way that was awkwardly intimate.

He wasn’t sure soulmates were supposed to be  _ awkward _ .

Tony gave his boss a short look, but didn’t dare stare. Gibbs knew full well what Tony had meant with his question, and it wasn’t like him to deliberately misinterpret it. Which meant his comment had some sort of meaning and Tony just had to figure out what. One quick glance at the ‘soulmates’ and Tony had a few ideas, most involving sex.

To be fair, most motives involved either sex or money so it was probably a 50/50 chance. Also, they’d left DC at four am to get here this early. It was possible Gibbs was just crankier than usual from the long drive. 

“Have Abby look up what she can on soulmates, see if there’s anything we should be looking out for,” Gibbs said. “I’m pretty sure it’s all just a story, but there’s a high probability that at least one of those two believes it.”

“Not taking Barton in?” Tony asked as he typed on his cell phone.

“Not yet,” the older man answered. “Have McGee look into this Fury person. If he can classify the investigation, we need to get our noses in far enough he’ll have to read us in. Preferably before he realizes and tries to block us.”

“On it, boss,” Tony said, wrapping up his text to the forensic scientist for the research before quickly switching to the ‘McDweeb’ entry. “Ze message, she haz been sent,” he said with a thick accent.

Gibbs gave him a sharp look but didn’t try to place the character Tony was imitating. “Hey!” he said sharply to the other pair instead. “Are we going to talk or not?” Barton, he noticed, didn’t jump but the sound  _ had _ attracted his attention. The aids were working then. Which either meant the man wasn’t completely deaf or Stark was a miracle worker.

McGee had been awfully eager to come and had only stayed back when something odd had popped up on the hard drive they’d recovered from the wreck of the house. Most would have thought it beyond repair, but Abby and McGee had managed to pull out something. Given the disappointment that he couldn’t see Stark in person, maybe the reason the aids worked well was a mix of both.

“Talk, definitely talk,” Stark said as he made his way over. “Also, this conversation will be recorded for my lawyers, so you know. I think I’m obligated to tell you that, or something. Am I obligated? Doesn’t matter, you know now. You can have a copy if you want. Are you  _ sure  _ those are comfortable? You keep rubbing them.” He’d switched his attention to the frowning man next to him.

“They’re  _ fine _ , Stark,” Barton almost growled. “Geez-us. I still have scratches in my ears, of course they’re itchy.”

“If you’re sure.” The bearded man didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Stop planning upgrades,” Barton scolded.

Stark blinked. “How did you-“

“You’re always planning upgrades.”

“Fair enough,” the dark-haired man conceded. “We should still talk to the grumpy man and his sidekick, though.”

“Talk about what?” Barton asked with a sigh, perching on the arm of the couch and motioning for the other two men to take a seat. He dug his socked feet into the space between the cushion and the arm of the couch and rested his arms on his bent knees. For a moment he looked like a big kid in his almost-too-big jeans and purple shirt with a cute white prancing unicorn making an angry face printed on it over the words  _ eat my rainbows _ . “I’m not doing some hair-brained experiment just because you found out we’re soulmates,” Barton said, and despite the words his tone was soft.

“You won’t?” Tony – the Stark version – looked almost wounded. Unlike his companion, he stayed standing and in an open space. The entire floor, Gibbs noticed as he sat down, was actually very open and full of windows. It was a great perch to keep an eye on the ground, and didn’t feel crowded despite the oversized furniture. “But-“

“Timing, Tony,” Barton interrupted. “My house blew up, my wife is missing, and I’ve had a really bad few weeks. Can we at least  _ try  _ to solve a few issues first?”

“I’d prefer that as well,” Gibbs said, inserting himself into the conversation. “We’re here about your wife.”

“You found her?” And that, that was true relief on Barton’s face. Too-tight shoulders relaxed a fraction and breath came easier. “I’m sorry. I must have missed your names, but thank you. Can I see her?”

Stark made a strange noise. It was almost wounded and caught Barton’s attention immediately. “What?” Barton asked.

“They’re from NCIS,” the Avenger Tony said with a small glare at Gibbs and the other Tony. “They didn’t bring Laura here, didn’t let her call you, and at no point has he said ‘Mr. Barton, you’re wife is safe.’ He said he’s here  _ about _ her. Which means bad news. Sick, injured, or dead?” He was looking straight at Gibbs as he bluntly asked her status.

“I’m sorry, but her body was found three miles from the remains of your home. She was murdered.”

This time the wounded noise came from Barton, but he looked more relieved than surprised. “Can I see her?” he asked again.

Dinozzo’s head popped up at the odd question like a hound hearing prey. “You sure you want to?” he asked. “It’s been – well, a few days. She’s not pretty anymore.”

“I have the unfortunate pleasure of working in a department where I am told someone’s dead only to find them alive and eating lunch in the cafeteria three months later,” Barton said with a shrug.

Stark interrupted with a quick: “How is Agent, by the way? Maybe we should invite him for shawarma. He missed the team dinner, being dead at the time. We should probably order in, though. Cap wasn’t fond of it.”

“So,” Barton said forcefully, ignoring the dark-haired man’s words and distraction over ‘team dinners.’ “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take ‘she’s dead’ at face value. I’d like to see the body. If I’m allowed, sir.”

“Just so you know, he’s going to see it anyway,” Stark put in. “How you answer will just determine if we do it the legal way or the illegal way.”

“ _ Tony _ ,” Barton hissed.

“Okay, you’ve got to stop doing that,” Dinozzo grumbled as he shook his head. “I didn’t do anything, and I know you aren’t talking to me, but it  _ feels _ like you are.”

Barton had the look of a startled cat, so Gibbs explained: “You have your Tony. We have ours.”

Dinozzo preened at the comment, and introduced himself: “ _ Very _ special agent Anthony Dinozzo from Washington DC’s NCIS. My friends call me Tony.”

“I thought your first name was ‘Agent’,” Stark said, rolling his eyes.

“Are you sure you want to see the body,” Gibbs asked when Stark’s remark only brought silence.

“Yes,” Barton said firmly. “It won’t be my first. Probably won’t be my last either. I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe.”

“This one is your wife,” Gibbs said, a frown crossing his face. “Trust me, it’s different. And it’s not good. Even if she was in perfect condition, I’m not convinced this is a good idea.”

“I noticed,” Barton said drily.

“I want a drink,” Stark interrupted. “Anyone else want a drink? No? I make  _ great _ coffee.”

“A cup of coffee would be good,” Gibbs said. “Dinozzo, why don’t you go help him. Four cups, two hands, all that.”

“Yes boss,” Dinozzo said without hesitation.

“Do I get a name, boss-man?” Barton asked. “Or am I supposed to call you boss?”

Gibbs held up his badge. “Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” the blond read, flicking his eyes over to confirm the face matched the photo on the ID. “Looks very official. Can’t say I’m pleased to meet you, given the circumstances, but I can say Tony’s coffee maker is faster than you expect. What did you need to say privately?”

“You’re perceptive.”

Barton shrugged. “I see better from a distance. You should remember that this is being recorded as well, and Tony’s going to watch it when you leave.”

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

Barton shrugged. “I’m not going to tell you something I don’t want him to hear, and his clearance is higher than yours. This – this is just Tony. Ever since Afghanistan he’s been a bit paranoid, but he’s still a genius.” He held up his tablet. “Set up his AI to translate words to text for me as soon as he realized my aids had been scrapped. I’m pretty sure he built my new ones himself even though he could have just ordered some.”

“Seems to be helping you out a lot.”

“More than I deserve, really, but you didn’t come here to find out how much the IT guy spoils his teammates.”

“You’re right; I need to know what you were doing five days ago, and what you do.”

Barton nodded. “Most of what I do is classified, but we were probably trained similarly.” He gave a sharp look up to a corner where Gibbs guessed one of the cameras were. “I, at least, had posters of Barnes on my walls.” He gave a shrug. “We all fight the bad guys, right?”

Gibbs kept a straight face, but inside he was processing the new information and wondering just how well he and Barton related. There had been no indication that Laura was murdered for what she knew, yet the possibility lingered in his mind. “How do you know how I was trained?”

“I’m perceptive,” Barton said, leaning back and putting his hands on the arm of the couch to take some of his weight. As he did, Gibbs noticed he was smaller than most of the marines he knew. Not all of them, and he certainly had muscle, but he wasn’t exactly buff. “That’s why the director used to have me watch over things. They liked my eyes,” he added with a smirk.

“Used to?” Gibbs asked, picking up on the past tense verb.

“I’m in a bit of a rough patch,” Barton admitted, slumping in on himself and yet still remaining perfectly balanced on the arm of the couch. “You don’t have the clearance to know the details, but I can say I was – well, the more friendly term I can think of is ‘unmade.’ Some friends put me back together, but lately I’m the one being watched instead of the one watching.”

To his credit, Barton looked very well put together for someone who had been ‘unmade.’ What exactly did that mean anyway? Torture? Drugs? Whatever it was, Barton hadn’t gotten a say in the matter. He looked guilty as hell about it, too. “Have you seen anyone about it?” Gibbs finally asked.

Barton’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Have you seen someone? Talked to someone? I assume this happened on a mission or you wouldn’t be concerned about clearance. But there are therapists who are authorized to discuss matters.”

Barton’s confusion turned to a scowl of disgust. “I haven’t seen a therapist since I told the last fucker to go jump off a cliff. That was – Istanbul, maybe? No, Sydney. That idiot thought I was about two. I was twenty at the time. So long as I can pass the evals the director doesn’t make me see therapists anymore.”

“Or medics, apparently,” Tony said as he handed Barton a mug of coffee that was a few shades lighter from added cream. “Natasha told me about the ceiling vents.”

“It was  _ once _ ,” Barton growled, “and I had to.”

“And I’m sure the doctors appreciated your dusting. When they found you.”

Barton rolled his eyes. “I was returning from a mission five days ago,” the blonde said, turning the conversation back to Gibbs’ prior questions. “You’ll have to check with SHIELD, but it was low-level enough that you should have access to a redacted version of the report. At least enough to verify I wasn’t at home at the time.”

“You still don’t believe we have your wife, do you?” Dinozzo asked. “No offense, but you’re very calm.”

“I believe you believe you have Laura,” Barton said. “I’ve grieved over too many friends and found them whole and healthy after their funerals. If I knew you it might be different, but I don’t.”

“What about your brother?” Gibbs asked. “We don’t have a location on him. Think you can reach out to him for some assistance?”

Barton had gone very, very still. “Barney’s been dead a long time. He’s not helping anyone.”

“Besides, Clint’s got all the assistance he needs right here. All he has to do is ask and he’s got whatever he needs,” Stark said, sounding a bit put off. “No offense, but I doubt anyone you know could handle it.”

“Tell me about this soulmate thingy,” Dinozzo asked while Gibbs took a sip of the surprisingly acceptable black coffee he’d been handed. “How does  _ that _ work?”

Barton shrugged. “Since I’ve had one for a whole half hour, I wouldn’t know.”

“Tell me about your wife then,” Dinozzo redirected. Stark seemed to be getting agitated with the line of questioning, sipping at his coffee more often and making small little movements like he had too much energy. “I would have thought she would be your soulmate. After all, you were married.”

Barton’s face went soft again. “Laura is… wonderful. The best I could ever ask for. She keeps me together. She makes the best breakfasts, hands down, and she doesn’t take shit from anyone – even me. If I could pick the person to share weird tattoos with, it would be her.”

“She got any enemies?” Gibbs asked. The question was directed at Clint, but he was watching Stark. And Stark looked gutted for about half a second before taking a sip of coffee and plastering on a small smirk. 

Barton shook his head. “The only enemies we had were mine. Look – when you dig into this things are going to be strange. On purpose. I’m active on missions above top secret, and in exchange the director set my family up with homestead to keep them safe,” Barton tried to explain. “It was meant to be untraceable.”

“Homestead?”

“Our house. An off-the-grid location as secure as top-level safehouses. Maybe even more secure.”

The elevator dinged and Barton was on his feet in a blink. The man moved  _ fast _ . Once the door opened a small blur flew through the room and latched itself to Barton’s leg like a homing missile. Barton passed the coffee over to Stark and hunkered down immediately while Stark set the mug aside. “Lila? Baby, what’s wrong?” Barton asked as he tried to kneel down around her grip.

“She had a nightmare,” said a brunette man holding a baby and lingering by the kitchen counter like he was afraid to come closer. “She wouldn’t settle down and insisted on seeing you. Cooper’s still upstairs watching TV with JARVIS.”

Gibbs was mildly impressed when the slight man gave up on trying to get down on her level and simply picked the child up like she weighed nothing. He had noticed the arm muscles, but Clint Barton wasn’t as obvious in his build as a wrestler and kids that age weren’t light. Barton started murmuring to her slightly and he only caught a few phrases – “yeah, baby,” and “daddy can hear again” – before the words turned into a soft lullaby.

“I think you should go,” Stark said, watching Gibbs observe Barton with narrowed eyes. “Private family time and all that. Unless you have more questions.”

Gibbs nodded and handed Tony a card. “In case he thinks of anything, or you do.”

Stark glared at it. “I don’t like being handed things.”

Gibbs set it on the table, nothing with interest that Stark relaxed when he did. Funny that the man hadn’t objected when Barton handed him the coffee. “If he really wants to see the body, call that number and I’ll set him up. Do us all a favor, though, and find a babysitter for the two kids.”

“Three.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Clint has three munchkins.”

Gibbs nodded. “They shouldn’t see her, and the Navy yard isn’t exactly where they should find out either.”

“I don’t know what kind of man you think Clint is, but he wouldn’t do that to kids. He may be a disaster sometimes, but he does have common sense.”

“Her body is in DC. We’re headed back that way after we make a few more stops. It’s quite a drive.”

“Not that far if you fly.”

“Remind him to be available by phone.”

“Until he gets called on a mission-“

“No missions,” Gibbs insisted. “Not until the investigation is over.”

“May need you to write a hall pass for that.”

“You got my number,” Gibbs reminded him. “If you need it, use it.”

* * *

Tony knew Clint hadn’t meant to sound like an ass - probably hadn’t even realized how his words would sound to Tony - but god  _ damn  _ if that hadn’t hurt. It had stung like an itchy, irritating paper cut when Clint hadn’t wanted to know; now knowing why brought back the sting of fists and electric jolts and  _ why doesn’t anyone want me _ . 

And maybe it was childish and selfish of him, but Tony really wanted to know. It wasn’t like he was asking for love or anything stupid like that, so why? Why was it so goddamn hard to have  _ friends.  _

He made quick excuses to both Clint and Bruce and went down to his lab. It was easier to think down there. Easier to see when it was lines of code and equations. When he came out he’d have a better grip on everything because he could gripe to Dum-E and U and Butterfingers and they didn’t hurt him. 

“I have finished compiling the last of the footage, sir,” JARVIS announced as Tony entered the one space in the tower he always felt useful. “Shall I put it up for you?”

“May as well,” Tony said, rubbing his beard and deciding that he could go for a little while longer before he trimmed it. He didn’t want to look scruffy and make it obvious that he was hiding. Besides, working on equipment was more productive; the last thing they needed was another alien race invading while they had their pants down. “Prioritize New York, and take stills of any full body shots showing his suit. Get as close as you can on that quiver in action, too.”

“As you wish, sir. I’d like to point out, sir, that the news crews have noticed a new face at the tower. It appears someone took a photo of Mister Barton near one of the windows. It would have required a telescopic lens and quite a high vantage point.” The photo in question was on display next to the video of New York, and Tony had to admire the determination and dedication it would have taken to get it. 

“Who’s the cameraman?”

“The image is credited to ‘P. Parker’, sir, but a full name isn’t provided. It appears to be a freelance photographer at the  _ Daily Bugle _ . From the lack of records it is likely he is being paid under the table, as they say.”

“Make a note to track trajectories, estimate where the cameraman was, and check that there was adequate security. Last thing we need is some tabloid getting a shot of Pepper changing. Also remind me to look into one-way windows. For now, take these three videos and identify the use of equipment and gear in each,” he said as he tapped three of the clips showing Clint, abruptly changing the subject. “He was down for quite a while on that office floor, what does his after-action medical say?”

“No medical report exists, sir.”

“Excuse me?” Medical checks weren’t necessary after every mission, but New York? As active as Barton had been during it?  _ All _ of the Avengers had been required to check in the med lab, even Tony. 

“I have searched all the SHIELD records available. No medical report for Mister Barton exists following the New York incident. There are a few brain scans - CT scans and PET scans, primarily - but that’s all. It appears the focus was on these to determine if Loki has any additional hold. Mister Barton insisted before he returned to his family.”

Tony took a deep breath and tried not to be angry at the stupid jerk who didn’t want  _ Tony Stark _ for a soulmate. “Tell Bruce he needs a full checkup, including a full body scan. Tell him we don’t use the same programs and you can’t convert their antiquated junk, or something. Get the kids scanned too; may as well make sure they’re healthy, and when they get sick we won’t have to start from scratch.”

“Very well, sir. I have cataloged the gear, would you like the report audibly or visually?”

“Read it to me, baby.”

“Weapons include a collapsible compound bow, estimated at around 50-60 pound draw based on speed and impact of arrows. Two handguns are visible, one on each thigh. I estimate three knives are kept, with more hidden, but are not combat-grade. Arsenal includes a variety of arrows. Shall I list them for you?”

Tony waved it off. “Later. Keep going on the rest.”

“The quiver holds arrow shafts and heads separately, attaching specialty head to shaft based on commands entered by the bow. The center of the quiver holds plain arrows, complete. He wears arm guards on both arms. After reviewing additional footage, it became clear Mister Barton is ambidextrous. The finger guards he wears primarily on his right hand to aid the illusion that he is right-handed, though he will sometimes switch or wear them on both hands if the mission calls for it. His suit is black combat gear issued by SHIELD. The arms are removed for ease of movement with the bow. It does not appear to have any armor worked into the fabric. At times he will add light body armor over his suit for protection.”

“Let’s start there, then,” Tony said, interrupting his AI.

It was four hours later that JARVIS interrupted Tony with “Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting to enter the lab.”

“He’s back already?” Tony stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his back. Leaning towards the holo-screen for so long always made his spine stiff. “Let him in, then. Can’t keep Captain America waiting, can I? What would dad say?”

“He did it often enough he shouldn’t complain,” Steve said, catching the end of Tony’s sarcastic comment as he walked in the lab. He was still in uniform, though he wasn’t carrying his shield and the cowl was pulled back off his face. “JARVIS said you wanted to see me before I went upstairs?”

“Just wanted to let you know Barton and his brood have moved in. Pretty sure he’s on the common floor right now. With his kids.”

Steve hesitated, a frown forming between his eyebrows. “Clint has kids?”

“I know, he’s basically a giant kid himself, right? But they’re upstairs with him; three munchkins.”

“I think I know that reference,” Steve said, brightening for a moment. “ _ Wizard of Oz _ , right?”

“Got it in one,” Tony started clearing the space on the worktable, getting ready to piece together the new vest he’d made. JARVIS had easily gotten Barton’s dimensions; next was precision cutting the pieces he needed. For that, more space was better.

“Clint was pretty adamant about not moving into the tower,” Steve finally said after a few moments of watching the engineer put away tools, bolts, and (strangely) a tiny pair of tweezers. “What changed his mind?” Seriously, some of the bolts were bigger. Shrinking was more a Pym thing than a Stark thing.

“Some idiot decided it would be a great idea to blow up his house and kill his wife. I’m not quite ready to yell ‘Hydra!’ yet, though. I’ve got JARVIS running watchdog and he hasn’t picked up on any news on any front. You’d think Hydra would be scrambling when they missed the main target.”

“Clint is  _ married _ ?”

“You know what, I’m just going to keep working and you just let me know when you’re finished trying to make the image work. You’re Captain America, not Captain Obvious. By the way, that image? It won’t work. You should just quit and go see for yourself.” True to his word, Tony turned back to his screens and ignored the big, buff man in the red, white, and blue spandex. He was double-checking all his calculations and measurements because as much as he could afford to make half a dozen suits out of the material, he wasn’t actually fond of wasting his time cutting pieces that were too small.

“Tony,” Steve almost growled. “Full story. Now, please. Clint has a wife?”

“Had. About five days ago she was killed while Barton was on a SHIELD mission. The house was demolished. Rather than take three mini-Bartons on the run he’s taking refuge in the tower. We reported the house to the police after he got here, and this morning NCIS showed up to tell us his wife had been shot. That’s the short version, at least.”

“Why didn’t you inform SHIELD? Fury’s got half the agency trying to find Clint.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “They must not be looking very hard, then. We haven’t been trying to  _ hide _ him, and NCIS had no problem showing up at my door asking for Barton. They knew exactly where he was without half the effort - his contact information was in the report!” He made a few notes on the diagram, wondering at the flexibility around the sides when Barton would turn. There were a few places the armor plates might pinch, and a bit more padding might be needed. His eyes darted between his screen and the uniform Steve was wearing. “Are all those pockets really useful?” He hadn’t planned so many in Clint’s because his current suit didn’t have much. They got in the way of the bow. The pants, though, he might be able to work with.

“Stop trying to change the subject. We need to let Fury know Clint isn’t AWOL.”

That made Tony pause. “Actually, why does Fury think Clint is missing? Barton checked in after his last mission and debriefed. I saw the after-action report when I was checking for information on his wife. He wasn’t due to report in for another week because shitty equipment means he’s about three steps from a broken rib. Per the report, at least.”

“He was due to check in to medical two days ago. Mandatory follow-up; I guess Fury didn’t like hearing about the rib,” Steve shrugged.

“Oh!” Tony brightened. “Brucie-bear is going to do it. Bonus if he’s actually due. JARVIS, update my science-buddy, okay? Barton doesn’t have  _ any _ excuses. Now if you don’t want the little ones seeing you in all your star-spangled glory I’d suggest changing before you visit any floor they might be wandering around on. I don’t care if you don’t. Now shoo. I have science to build.”

* * *

“If you frown any harder at that phone, you may break it,” Ziva pointed out.

“Huh?” Tim asked, glancing up quickly. “Oh. Sorry. Just this game. It’s some sort of cross between wordsearch and a crossword, and with Tony being on the road so long…”

“Gibbs is driving,” Ziva pointed out. “I doubt he will be playing games.”

“He could be playing  _ because _ Gibbs is driving.”

“Good point.”

“I need a seven-letter word and the clue is ‘baseball’.”

“Fly ball,” Ziva said. 

Tim concentrated on the screen. “No, I don’t see it.”

“Bunting?”

A large frown crossed Tim’s face. “No. Maybe I should buy some hints.”

“There are hints?”

“For a price.”

“That sounds like cheating.”

“Part of the game,” Tim said.

“So’s a diamond.”

“That’s it!” Tim shouted, swiping his finger across the screen.

“What’s it, McGee?” Gibbs asked as he walked in, cup of coffee in hand and Tony Dinozzo trailing behind him.

Tim made a hesitating sound but didn’t miss a beat in displaying his screen on the larger, shared monitor. “Clint Barton’s profile - or what we can view of it. This is what we have on file for Laura Barton’s husband.”

“I do not understand,” Ziva complained as she stared at the display currently showing Clint Barton’s profile. She stood and walked closer, crossing her arms. Almost everything under the entry was marked  _ classified _ . “How is his job so secret we do not even have clearance to know what it  _ is _ ? Even my profile is more complete than this sham.”

“He’s a sniper,” Gibbs said, sipping on his coffee. “Or so he implied. Did you get the video from Stark, and is Abby running facial recognition to find where he’s been the past few days?”

“Yes to both, boss,” Timothy McGee said. “But I can confirm that he could be a sniper, or at least knows how to use bows and arrows.” He clicked his remote, replacing the bare profile to show traffic camera feed of New York during some sort of attack. Barton fired several arrows – honest-to-god  _ bows and arrows _ – before turning and continuing to help children disembark from an overturned public bus. “This is leaked footage from the attack on New York about four months ago. Facial recognition confirms this is Clint Barton with a 99% match. Abby and I found the design plans for specialized arrows on the hard drive we recovered, so someone in his house was designing for him. His targets were so far off the camera didn’t catch more than shapes.”

“Who’s he firing at?”

“There’s some debate about that,” Tim said in response to Tony’s question. “Some say aliens, some say terrorists. Some say those two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Tony muttered as he reviewed the file in his hands. “Sorry boss,” he added after he got a disapproving look. “Not a lot of sleep. Whether you believe the aliens are from outer space or across the sea, point is he fought them and did some heavy damage. Got some heavy damage in return, too. According to the report about ten minutes before the end of the fight he went feet-first through a window and had to withdraw because he was out of ammo.”

“He drops off the radar completely after he does, but there was security footage that caught him going in.” Tim queued it up and all four agents winced when they saw the line jerk at the end before gravity pulled Barton back towards the building. “I’m surprised that didn’t dislocate his arms.”

“I’m surprised he was able to hold on,” Tony added.

“The security feed from inside the building went missing – likely into the hands of his handlers: the mysterious agency known only as SHIELD. Acronym, not the word. Almost all the footage from the battle was snatched up by them, except for a few videos like these. I suspect they were left behind on purpose to make it look like less of a cover-up to the media. After all, there was enough damage that it wouldn’t be surprising for cameras to be inoperable.”

“The mysterious SHIELD,” Tony continued, sharing the information he’d found while his boss made the long drive back to DC, “is a government agency covered in more shadows than the FBI. Major world crisis happens, these guys come in and act as clean-up crew. Agents are known to sometimes pose as FBI, DEA, and any other alphabet-soup letter agency they can make arrangements with just to keep their name off the ledgers. You’d have better luck finding out Area 51’s secrets than getting into their business.”

“I have heard of this agency,” Ziva said slowly, “but rarely without whispers of their counterpart: Hydra.”

“Hydra?” Gibbs asked, his tone questioning the agency but his face questioning who came up with the name.

“If you take the SHIELD name literally as a protective agency – which is likely not wise – Hydra would be the creature they protect us from,” Ziva said. “That is as much as I know. Rumors were only that Hydra was evil, and SHIELD protects us from them. At the time, I thought it was more metaphorical than literal.”

“I don’t know anything about Hydra, boss,” Tim said, cutting into Tony’s comment about Tim and video game monsters, “but I did find the Fury connection. Unless it’s a nickname or a codename, I think it refers to the director of SHIELD. His name is Nick Fury.” He clicked the remote again to pull up the new profile. There was less on the screen than there had been for Barton. “No photo, and very little information provided given he’s the director. Even the name sounds like something from a video game.”

“Brings up a disturbing theme,” Gibbs said. “We sure all of this is real?”

McGee nodded. “I pulled this from government servers. Just searching for SHIELD probably alerted them to our investigation, but the information I pulled was all information available to any agent. Not even top secret at this point.”

“What else?” Gibbs asked.

The three agents stared at each other, blanking for a moment. There wasn’t anything else on Nick Fury.

“ _ What. Else _ ?” Gibbs repeated.

They scrambled, Ziva taking over and directing her own monitor to display. “The victim is Miss Laura Marie Barton, maiden name Sails. She is the daughter of Navy Lieutenant Milo Sails. Her record is clean. Not even a speeding ticket. She has three children: Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel. She married Clint Francis Barton at age 25, just after the birth of her son Cooper. While Clint is listed as the boy’s father and has always acted as such, there was a brief time when the boy was two that another man claimed to be the biological parent. When it was discovered that Milo had paid the man to come forward and that the man was a drunken menace, the case was dropped. Three months later the family disappeared and contact with the rest of the Sails family was only made through phone calls and emails.”

“She only cut off her family, though, not her friends,” McGee put in. “According to her phone records Laura still kept in contact with her friends on a regular basis, and credit card history shows her travelling and paying for meals in towns near her old high school. The same also shows she was actively communicating with neighbors and shopping at her new home. They weren’t cut off from everyone, and not completely off-the-grid. Anyone dedicated would have found them.”

Considering Barton had told them they were supposed to be untraceable, that was a bit concerning. “Barton said we may find something strange. Anything yet?” Gibbs asked.

“No hospital bills,” Ziva said. “The woman had three children, all of whom could not have stayed perfectly healthy for eight years and would have at least needed to get shots for school – not to mention her own pregnancy checkups and deliveries – but they have no insurance and no hospital ever charged them. All their records do appear legit, but I have yet to get in contact with anything more than a computer to verify.”

“No grocery bills,” McGee added, “and no cash withdraws to explain where their food came from.”

“And one more thing, boss,” Tony said, taking over the display monitor to show a website dedicated to ‘the Avengers.’ “Tony Stark is the self-proclaimed IronMan, a member of a superhero style group of do-good crime-fighters currently in public favor. There are two other members of the team with no known photos, and guess what the weapon of choice is for mysterious assassin number two?” He scrolled down to a question mark image next to bold letters.

Code Name: Hawkeye

Profession: Master Assassin

Weapon: Trick Arrows

Birth Name: Unknown

Age: Unknown

Status: Unknown

Location: Unknown. Unconfirmed reports state a new face has appeared at Avenger’s Tower. No information yet on whether this is a new Avenger, one of the two unknown Avengers (Hawkeye and Black Widow), or a member of staff.

Gibbs shook his head. A master assassin hanging around in an  _ eat my rainbows _ shirt? Either the world had gone nuts or the two were not one in the same.

Ziva frowned. “McGee earlier showed footage of Mister Barton in New York. How do they not have an image of Hawkeye if Mister Barton is Hawkeye?”

“No one has confirmed if Barton is Hawkeye or not,” McGee said, typing on his laptop to hurry and find an answer. “It looks like Clint Barton is only one of many potentials – but I did get another hit on the name Hawkeye.” He took over the screen again, this time showing an old ad for a circus. There was a drawing on it of a blonde man in a purple mask, feathers in his hair. “Looks like Hawkeye used to be the name of a performer in a circus act.” Big bold letters wrapped around the torso in a fancy script claiming:  _ Unlike Cupid, our Hawk’s arrows never miss! _

* * *

“What have you got, Abby?”

The black-haired forensic scientist smiled as she turned towards the older agent. “You know me so well, Gibbs! What were they like?”

“They?”

“The marks! I’ve never actually seen real soulmarks before.”

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee and waited. 

“Right. Sorry, just - soulmarks are really rare,” Abby tried to explain, her hands twisting together as she resisted the urge to talk with her hands. “Did you know they once thought tattoos should be banned because they were insult to marked pairs?”

“Nope,” Gibbs said, looking at the screens she had up.

“It’s true! But when they realized how rare soulmarks actually are, people started saying that tattoos were ways to have soulmarks without the mystical connection. Then soulmarks got regulated to the world of witches and magic and now about as many people believe in them as, say, believe in fairy godmothers.”

“But they are real?”

“In theory? Yes. Not so sure about the two you looked at, though - I’d have to get some samples. I’d really like to look at some samples, Gibbs. Please?”

“We don’t have cause, but when I see one of them again I can ask,” the grey-haired man said. “Didn’t you have something for me?”

“Sorry,” Abby said again. “Distracted. I need to focus.” She took a deep breath, using her hands to mimic the distraction pushing lower to the ground. Then she turned to her computer and started tapping at the keyboard. “So it turns out the data McGee and I pulled from the harddrive was mostly family photos.” A slideshow had started on the wall monitor showing the recovered images. Several of them featured the dead woman they were investigating: she was riding on a horse in the woods, her hair loose and smile bright; she was sticking her tongue out and throwing popcorn, her belly showing she was heavily pregnant; she was sleeping on the bed, two small bodies curled up with her. “Some were too corrupt to retrieve, but there’s some good stuff in here.” 

The picture changed to the couple kissing in front of the unlit fireplace, the scene slightly off-center and a finger partially covering the corner to show one of the kids had caught them. “Laura and Clint may not have been soulmates, but these make it super easy to believe they were, like, madly in love with each other. There’s just as many of Clint, but she seems to like catching him half-dressed.” As if on cue, a picture appeared of a scowling Barton dressed in only a towel, his hair damp as he looked in the mirror. He didn’t seem to notice the camera, and the angle revealed the man was scarred. Not heavily, but enough for a trained agent to notice. “Also, there had to be someone else they trusted because some of the shots show the whole family,” Abby noted.

“Not easy to do for a supposedly off-the-grid family, I take it?” Gibbs asked.

“Do you even know what off-the-grid means?” Abby asked. “Because they certainly didn’t, if that’s what they’re saying. They may not have had social media or internet at the house, but they still had emails, credit cards, even had their address listed in the phone book. If they were hiding, it had to be a case of ‘hiding in plain sight’ and not hiding-hiding.”

“You said it was mostly photos. What else was on there?”

“A few design files. As near as I can guess, one of them was a hunter designing arrows. Not sure if it was their job or if they did it for fun or what, but they’re, like, secret-agent-man arrows with secret compartments and everything.  _ Definitely  _ not standard. Like, James Bond level of not standard.”

“Anything from the body?”

Abby smiled. “Would I disappoint you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Ducky found some scratches and abrasions indicating a struggle. I did a swab - actually, I did several - to pull DNA and I’m running it now. No hits yet, but I can say there were three different strands. All of them were male.”

“Any of them Mister Barton?”

“Actually, I can’t find his DNA on file anywhere.”

Gibbs frowned. “How’s that possible? He works for a military agency. Government.”

“Not according to the paper trail. According to  _ that _ , SHIELD is a bunch of desk jockeys. Government, yes. Military? No. Clint Barton’s official title is Senior Analyst. He both analyzes and trains newbies.”

“He’s definitely not a desk jockey,” Gibbs said quietly. Then he kissed her cheek and said “Good job, Abs,” before walking out of her lab.

* * *

“Why are we here again?” Ziva asked as Tony pulled into the driveway of a quaint little ranch home.

“Laura Barton frequently made calls to this number, but it’s the only number which doesn’t have a connection to her. Not a friend, not family. So how does a homemaker know Miss Natalie Rushman from 300 miles away?”

“The internet?”

“Don’t get cute,” Tony said as he unbuckled, checking his weapon and badge as he got out of the car. “We’re just asking a few questions.”

“Stirring the bear,” Ziva said with a slight frown.

“ _ Poking _ the bear,” Tony corrected. “Or stirring the pot. Either could apply here,” he added after a moment’s thought.

“I’d prefer to stir a pot,” Ziva commented. “It’s less likely to bite.”

Tony knocked on the door as Ziva took in the picture-perfect house. It was a well-kept brick arrangement with perfectly trimmed hedges and flowers with only a few dead blooms hidden among the leaves. White shutters hung around the windows, permanently open and purely decorative, and the one section of windowless wall had a trellis with a climbing rose creeping up the ladder.

The door opened to a beautiful redheaded woman in a pressed pantsuit. She was frowning, her gaze going down Tony and up Ziva in a way that was less personal assistant and more a shark looking for prey. It didn’t stop Tony from looking her up and down in return with a mental  _ me-ow! _ She might be undercover loan shark for the mafia or a legal assistant, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating the view. “Can I help you?”

“I sure hope so,” Tony said, giving her a saucy wink. Ziva rolled her eyes behind his back. “We’re looking for a Miss Natalie Rushman.”

“You found her.”

“I’m Agent DiNozzo. The woman behind me is not a stalker, just my coworker, Agent DaVid. Could we come in for a few minutes?” He lifted his badge, showing off the shiny shield.

One red eyebrow quirked upwards as the green gaze shifted to Ziva. “We apologize for any inconvenience,” Ziva said. “We just have a few questions regarding an investigation.” She held up her own badge, lingering longer on the ID portion.

Natalie looked over the badges before nodding and stepping back. Though her gaze was quick, Tony’s interest spiked; it hadn’t been the casual glance of a civilian pretending to know what a real badge looked like. That was looking for authenticity and knowing how to spot a fake in a glance.

“What can I help you with, Agents?” Natalie asked, gesturing to the perfectly clean white couch for them to sit. 

“We’re here about Laura Barton,” Tony said. He didn’t take a seat, but moved to the mantle over the fireplace where several photos were displayed. He recognized Clint in a few, and Laura. It was a bit surprising since the rest of the house looked like it was still on display for an open house event. “Phone records indicate she called you often.”

“Is she hurt?”

“She’s dead,” Ziva said simply.

Natalie cursed in some other language - Tony guessed Russian - and pulled out a phone hitting speed dial. After a few rings, someone picked up. “Where’s Clint?” she demanded.

Whatever the answer was, she didn’t like it.

“You better get those numbskulls off their asses or so help me…” Her gaze stayed fixed on her two guests as she spoke, never forgetting that they were present. Her frown deepened. “I’ll find him. Call off the rest. Those idiots will drive him deeper underground. You think I can’t find a hawk?” Another pause, longer this time, more significant. “You’re walking a fine line, director.” She hung up without actually saying goodbye. “Get out,” she told the agents.

“I saw Clint Barton this morning,” Tony said, and immediately had her attention.

“Where?”

“I think we should talk first. About Laura. About you. And about Hawkeye.”

* * *

Clint hadn’t been sure how Rogers would react to children running around the tower (the Avengers did live dangerous lives), but the blonde had shown up on the communal floor dressed in civilian clothes and simply asked if he could make dinner for them. Clint had nodded, introducing the three children to Steve Rogers and leaving out his alias, then watched as Captain America put on an apron and started cooking.

“Are you sure I’m in the right universe?” he asked Banner when the man wandered into the living room.

“What?”

“Look in the kitchen.”

Bruce did, then shrugged. “He does that when he’s processing. He likes to feed people. Probably a depression-era thing. You should have seen him when he found out Stark had been living off of protein-shakes for almost a year.”

“Oh god,” Clint moaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Not following.”

“Tell me I didn’t just temporarily move in with people who parent more than actual  _ parents _ ,” Clint said into his palms.

Bruce shrugged. “I don’t think any of us really know enough about parenting to say that.”

Clint sighed, rubbing his face and letting his hands drop. “Given the lack of surprise when he came in, someone warned him. How long do you think he’ll take to - you know - process?”

“Not long. It would have been smoother if you’d actually told us you had a family. We would have understood,” Bruce jabbed lightly.

Clint slumped, depressed. Another screw-up to add to the list. At this rate he might as well just leave the kids with Tony and disappear. He was an awful father. Barely better than the drunk he’d run away from. Which brought up a new line of  _ responsible _ thoughts. He hated those. “Do you know how I get in touch with Stark’s legal team?”

“JARVIS does. Why?”

“Need to make sure the kids are taken care of if something happens to me, now,” Clint said honestly. He was sure that if he’d been a better parent he would have thought of it sooner. “I don’t want them to go to Laura’s parents, and they absolutely can’t go to mine.”

“I will ask the legal team to prepare the necessary documents if you can supply your desires for chain of custody and any other wishes,” JARVIS said in Clint’s ear, speaking over Bruce’s “oh.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

Banner narrowed his brown eyes, then shook his head. “Forgot he was in your ears.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Steve shouted. 

Clint looked over to see the table set and food set out family-style with a bowl of salad, mashed potatoes, peas, and what looked like a mountain of pork chops. “Aw, food,” Clint almost whined. Why did it have to look so good? 

* * *

“Killian?” Pepper asked, shocked beyond belief at the man in front of her. He looked nothing like he used to, moved nothing like he used to, as he came forward and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. 

She was still in shock as she dismissed Happy to hear Killian’s proposal, and it took him displaying his own brain in holographic 3D  _ live _ glory for her to remember he was a science geek.

“So what do you say?” he asked, smiling wide.

Pepper gave a soft smile of her own. “What you’ve shown me is - well, it’s absolutely amazing,” she said honestly. “But I’m going to have to say no.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Stark Industries is firm on the stance of not creating technologies which are weapons. Your research has taken you in a direction I’m sure you find beneficial and fascinating, but it can too easily be turned to creating human weapons.”

“Think of all the good we could do, though. Genetic diseases could be eliminated. We could unlock human potential-”

“The same way way they ‘unlocked’ Captain America in the 40’s?” Pepper asked. “I’m sorry, Killian, but to me this just looks like another path to creating super soldiers.”

“We turn it to healing, that’s the design,” Killian insisted. “Fixing the disabled, curing the sick-”

“And now you sound more arrogant than Tony,” Pepper cut in, thinking of Clint Barton and how he might react to an offer of being ‘fixed’. Not well, she imagined. He might not have perfect hearing but he was still an Avenger. She had normal hearing and she couldn’t do half of the things he could do. “It’s not our place to play God. To pick and choose what is a disability and what is a mutation and what needs changed. If you were offering to work together on this display of your brain? A live feed that could do wonders for medical diagnostics, on the scene assessments, emergency care? We’d be having a different conversation. But you’re not. You’re talking about changing people like they’re machines that just need a new part or a bit of oil. This has the potential to go horribly wrong and it scares me that you don’t see that. I cannot allow this company to support such a project. I’m sorry.”

Killian nodded. “I thought you were different from Stark, that you could stand up to him. I never imagined you wouldn’t want to. I’m sorry I can’t change your mind.”

Pepper stood and grasped his hand, making sure to catch his eye. “Science isn’t all about doing everything possible,” she said gently. “Sometimes it’s about stepping back and seeing if we  _ should _ .”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind. Shall I walk you out?” he asked, his face carefully neutral even though Pepper thought she still heard disappointment in his tone.

She nodded. “Thank you. And if you do want to have another conversation about the discoveries you made along the way, we can talk again. I know you didn’t come here to show me your brain, but I will admit I found the show fascinating.”

Killian brightened. “Maybe once I get over the sting of rejection on Extremis, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

* * *

“The phone number was a good lead, boss,” Tony said as he dropped his backpack next to his desk in the squadroom. “Where’s McFanBoy?”

“In MTAC trying to get Barton’s mission reports from SHIELD. What did you find?”

“The lovely and beautiful Natalie Rushman - single - all but confirmed Mister Barton is the Avenger known as Hawkeye.”

“Rather she implied it but did not state it,” Ziva clarified. “She was very clear that she could not tell us that information.”

“But this lovely lady has the director of SHIELD on speed dial, and she gives him sass,” Tony countered, still slightly impressed by that fact.

“She also has a much higher opinion of Barton than she does other SHIELD agents. They do not appear to share blood, but there was the same type of fondness there.”

“For once, I agree,” Tony cut in. “No sexual attraction between friends of opposite genders. I would have said it wasn’t possible, but I think she views him more as a naughty little brother than an actual male friend.” Tony frowned, then shook himself. “Hard to explain how that happened. From the stories, looks like our boy is a prankster who typically works alone.”

“What about Laura?” Gibbs asked.

“I got the impression the two were  _ very _ close,” Ziva said. “Miss Rushman asked after the children by name, and may actually be more interested in female bodies than male.” She couldn’t help but tease Tony with the remark, one eyebrow shooting up in challenge. Tony didn’t take the bait, so Ziva continued: “She also asked to see the body, just as Mister Barton did.”

“What kind of work are these guys in?” Gibbs asked, frowning.

“Espionage and assassination, unless I miss my guess,” Ziva said. “Miss Rushman did not look it, but she was armed.”

“No,” Tony said, disbelieving. “In that number?”

“What number? She was armed. Did you see where that phone came from?”

“Now that you mention it,” Dinozzo said with a small frown, “not really. And I was looking. She had a great-” he stopped at the slap to the back of his head. “Skirt,” he said. “I was going to say skirt.”

Ziva rolled her eyes. “Miss Rushman confirmed what we already found: Miss Barton had no direct enemies and was living away from her family. She only kept in face-to-face contact with her old friends. Miss Rushman is the only friend shared between Mrs. Barton and Mister Barton, but according to Miss Rushman this is because Mister Barton does not make friends. At all.”

“What did she call Stark?” Gibbs asked.

“An arrogant ass,” Tony said. “But she was smiling when she said it so I’m not sure I believe her.”

“She also rattled off a phrase that sounded like some sort of joke,” Ziva said. “Billionaire, playboy, genius, philanthropist?” She said it slowly, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she was saying it correctly.

“Again with the smiling on the inside. Either she’s got a bit of a crush or Mister Stark is another little bro.”

Gibbs nodded. “Let’s see how Ducky’s doing with the autopsy. We’ll get in contact with Barton and Rushman when he’s done so they can confirm it’s Laura Barton for themselves.”

“One more thing, boss,” Tony said. “Remember how I said Rushman had a direct line to the director of SHIELD?”

“Yeah?”

“Well I know that because she called him as soon as we told her Laura was dead. She didn’t know where Barton was - and SHIELD doesn’t either.”

Gibbs frowned. “He’s AWOL? How? His current location was listed in the damn report that led the PD to the body. Even listed a contact phone number as a direct line.”

Tony shrugged. “We told Natalie since it was the only way she would talk to us, but something doesn’t sit right, boss. It’s like Barton’s trying  _ not _ to hide but someone else is trying to hide  _ him _ .”

“Ok, who?” Gibbs asked. “And who from?”

“The from seems simple. SHIELD. His own agency,” Ziva said.

“And the who?”

“We don’t know,” Tony said, leaning back against his desk and slumping a bit. “But given some of what we found? Chances are pretty high the answer to that question is also SHIELD, Alex.”

Gibbs frowned, staring at his computer screen for a moment without actually reading anything, then stood and started his way up the stairs.

“Where you going, boss?” Tony asked, startled. 

“The director’s office.”

“Why?”

“Because SHIELD has a mole.”

Tony frowned as Gibbs disappeared, turning his attention to Ziva. “Is it still considered a mole when they’re hiding information and not leaking it?”

“Trust me, Tony,” Ziva said as she sat down and rolled up to her desk. “If they are hiding information, they are leaking it as well. I have a better question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Who is Alex?”

Tony glared at her. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

* * *

_ Clint was shaking. They were in an old barn after the last remnants of the show had long since passed, and the darkness had never seemed so imposing before. _

_ “You knew what was going to happen if you failed,” the Ringmaster said, his voice so very disappointed. He seemed to appear out of thin air, a trick he loved to show off, and beside him were Bullseye and TrickShot. TrickShot was frowning, and Clint had never seen his brother so very disappointed in him before in his life. _

_ “Are you ready to face your punishment, little hawk?” the Ringmaster asked. _

_ “I’m sorry,” Clint murmured, dropping his gaze to the floor and tightening his grip on his bow to hide his trembling. “She was just a little girl.” _

_ “It’s not up to you to decide who is and who is not a target. Your only job is to follow orders.” Without hesitation, the Ringmaster brought up a gun and pointed it at Barney’s - TrickShot’s - head. He fired. _

_ Clint muffled a scream as he fell to his knees, his brother falling to the ground as blood spread across the dirt floor. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She was just a little girl! She wasn’t a threat to anyone! _

_ Bullseye picked up the corpse and tied it to a cross in the middle of the floor. “Since you seem to be having trouble, tonight you’ll use a real target,” the gruff man said. The tattoo on his forehead made him seem even more like a demon in the faint light of the tent, his eyes red and bloodshot from too much alcohol every other night. “Best get to shootin’, lad. I expect you to get through that quiver ten times before the sun comes up. And for every one you miss, you’ll have to fire three more.” _

_ “I - I can’t,” Clint mumbled, eyes watering. “Barney-” _

_ The Ringmaster’s whip was fire down his back, and Clint couldn’t help but cry out at the sharp pain. “No excuses,” the Ringmaster said. “We’ll fix you so you can go out again, but don’t go getting a swollen head. We’re already looking for your replacement. After all, you’re so broken it’s a wonder we ever get anywhere with you.” _

_ “Fire at your target,” Bullseye said. _

_ On shaking legs, Clint stood. _

_ Another wave of searing pain went streaming down his leg when he took too long. “If you don’t comply soon, we’ll just have to go out and find more little girls for you to shoot. Maybe you like them better when they’re still alive to see you kill them?” _

_ With a shuddering breath Clint knocked and arrow and drew back the bowstring. With an apologetic prayer, he fired the first arrow into his brother. _

_ And then the next. _

_ And then the next. _

_ Over and over and over until the quiver was empty. _

_ “Retrieve your arrows,” Bullseye ordered. Clint could remember TrickShot telling him the same thing. Always retrieve your arrows, even if you’re pulling them from a corpse. Never leave evidence behind.  _

_ He’d never had to pull arrows out of Barney’s body before.  _

_ Each of the shots had been deadly, and TrickShot’s blood was covering the entire floor now. Clint couldn’t help it; he fell to his knees and threw up. _

_ Fire danced down his back as the whip cracked, and Clint almost choked on his own breath. _

_ That night he fired arrows until his fingers bled. Until his palms were raw from roughly pulling out arrows and his clothes were soaked in Barney’s blood and his eyes were too dry and dead and swollen to see more than the ground in front of him. When morning came, he had lost count of the number of arrows he’d fired. He’d stopped seeing his brother in the target and started seeing himself. Wouldn’t that be bliss? _

_ But no, that wouldn’t do what needed doing. That wouldn’t kill Barney’s killer. _

_ When they were satisfied with his shots, Bullseye cut down Trickshot’s body and let him fall to the floor. Then the Ringmaster and Bullseye left with clear orders for him to sleep right there in the barn and locked him in, but how could he sleep when his brother’s corpse was right there in front of him? How could he after - _

_ Clint had run away before, with Barney. He’d lived with the circus for years after running away. Getting out of the barn was easy. Finding where to go… _

_ His mind drifted to the only business card he’d ever been given; after giving it a hard glance and trying to decipher quiet, almost unheard words he’d thrown it away. An older man with a soft smile had given it to him, just in case he’d need it someday, and at first Clint had thought he was just a perv looking for some cheap tail. He hadn’t dared keep it in case someone saw it and thought he was trying to leave, but now he closed his eyes and drew up the image of the stark white background and crisp black print. Simple words and numbers, just a name and way to reach out. _

_ Phil Coulson. _

_ Yeah, it was time to use that number. Even if he was a perv, it would be a place to clean up and steal some cash.  _

Clint sat up in bed breathing hard. A nightmare. It was just a nightmare. A dark horse on a dark sky. 

It was no wonder he’d dreamt of his brother. First Gibbs bringing him up and now Barney’s sayings slipping into his thoughts… Memories were too close to the surface.

Clint wiped his hands on his face and ignored the tear tracks on his cheeks. Too much had happened too fast; old memories were stirring and that was never a good sign. He’d buried those deep so he’d never have to even think of them again. Laura hadn’t thought it healthy, but she’d helped him get what he needed. Helped him find the treatments and the doctors to make the scars almost disappear. Only the deepest now left tiny little lines on his skin, unnoticed unless someone was looking.

Erasing the footprints of the past, Clint liked to call it.

He moved to take a shower knowing he wasn’t going to get back to sleep again tonight. JARVIS had arranged for him to see Laura’s body in - he checked the time - six hours, so he had plenty of time to shower, get dressed, get some food, and review the papers the lawyers had sent. Maybe check over the paper to see if there were any ads for good apartments (or part-time jobs). Check on the baby. Get the kids ready for the first day of school Pepper had enrolled them in when Clint hadn’t been able to make a decision. 

Yeah, he could find plenty to do. Who needed sleep anyways?

He was toweling off after his shower, dressed only in his boxers, and startled at Tony Stark sitting on his bed. It wasn’t dark, so Tony must have turned on the lights, and Clint berated himself for not paying attention. 

“You okay?” Tony asked. 

“Yeah, why?”

“JARVIS told me you had an accelerated heart rate, flushed skin, sweating - basically listed all the outward symptoms of a panic attack. No big deal really, at least that’s what my therapists tell me to tell myself. You seem to be over it though, so I guess I’ll head out.” He stood. 

It was a lot to take in. “Why did JARVIS tell you anything?”

“Standard medical protocol. JARVIS mostly gives everyone their privacy, but he’s constantly monitoring biometrics to make sure we don’t get hurt or sick. Someone tips over to the unhealthy side and he notifies me if I’m awake. If I’m not awake he’ll do an assessment of his scans to see if I should be woken up or if it can wait until morning. I probably wouldn’t have even known about this if I hadn’t already been up. He doesn’t tell me about them if they resolve themselves.”

Clint took a moment to think through all the information Tony gave him, glaring at the other man whenever he made a move to leave until Stark got the point and sat back down with a huff. “It’s too early for this shit,” Clint muttered. “I want added to the protocol. If one of the kids is sick, he should be getting me first.”

Tony blinked. “That was done, like, the minute you walked in the door.”

Clint closed his eyes and thought through Tony’s rambling explanation. “So any time we’re off, he lets you know?”

Tony frowned. “Not if it’s just a little bit. I mean, my heart’s pretty much shit after this,” he tapped on the reactor, “and if he called Pepper every time it was off a beat she’d have an ulcer by now. Probably does anyway. No, it’s only if there’s something alarming or not right. J?”

“Mister Barton’s heart rate went from 55 beats per minute while at rest, to 102 beats per minute while still in a resting state. His face was pale, and he was sweating even though the room was a comfortable 70 degrees. This all occurred in two point three six minutes,” the AI informed them. “With no apparent outside source for the change, medical security procedures were activated and Mister Stark was informed.”

Ok, so it did sound bad all laid out like that. 

“It’s a bit annoying, I’ll grant you that, but-” Tony shrugged. “It works.”

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. “I need coffee.”

“I can go-”

“No. No, we need to talk about this.” Laura would have had his ass already if she’d still been around. Clint had spent years keeping his private life hidden. Laura and the kids, homestead, friends, Barney, all of it had been kept secret for over half his life. Soulmates immediately sounded  _ private _ and  _ dangerous _ , which meant he’d spent a good 12 hours very firmly Not Thinking About It. “Soulmates, huh?” he asked, snorting. “God, this is so fucked up.”

Tony stiffened immediately. “Sorry for not being everything your heart desires.”

“Didn’t mean it that way.”

“How did you mean it then?” Tony demanded, eyes narrowed. “Because there’s really not a whole lot of ways to interpret that.”

“Tony, we just fought aliens. Real damn aliens pouring out of a hole in the sky and one of them took over my  _ brain _ . Some days I can’t even breathe without wondering if it’s still  _ me _ in here. You fly around in shiny red armor, Steve’s basically on par with gods, and I shoot people with a bow and arrow? What part of my life is supposed to make sense? Christ, the soulmate tattoo things are probably the most normal thing that’s happened in the past few weeks and that’s seriously messed up.”

“You swear a lot when the kids aren’t around,” Tony commented, looking mildly impressed. “Granted, it’s not, like, sailor-swearing, but still.”

“Is that really the important thing right now?”

“I’m not really sure what the important thing is right now, so I’m going to table that question until after you tell me what you want to talk about.”

One blonde eyebrow twitched. “Soulmates.”

“Really?” Tony asked. “Just checking, because every other time the subject’s come up you pretty much shut it down. Figured the ‘weird tattoos’ were off limits.”

“Are they just tattoos?”

Small shoulders shrugged, the blue of the arc reactor catching Clint’s eye as it moved. It wasn’t quite the right shade to match Loki’s staff; he’d thought it was, but it was whiter now - or at least seemed so. “Not much is known, really. I can tell you if they’re real or not. Science has gotten that far at least. What they mean and what happens after is still mostly myth and legend mumbo jumbo.”

“Fine. When I get back we’ll do the test to see if they’re real or not. On both of them.”

“Still don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone right now,” Clint admitted. “Not even me.”

“Way to be all ‘sunshine and rainbows’ about it.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Get out so I can get shit done before the kids wake up.”

“I tried to leave ten minutes ago,” Tony countered. “You wouldn’t let me. So now I think I’ll just sleep on your bed.” He toed off his shoes and wrapped himself in the comforter. “I made sure your flight was cleared, by the way. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem but with the way those guys were eyeing you I didn’t want to give them an in.”

“Flight?”

“Well yeah, how else are you going to get to DC in time for your appointment? It’s a little too late to try and drive.”

No wonder the agents had looked at him like he was nuts.


	4. Broken Pieces

Clint glanced over his shoulder briefly as he landed the quinjet, letting the people on the ground who could see him know he wasn’t alone. He’d given ‘Tasha a call to let her know what was happening and gotten reamed for not telling her right after it happened (followed by a whole lot of ‘I’m sorry’). Then Natasha had informed the director where he was and suddenly his flight plan was redirected so he had a whole lot of Nick Fury behind him. 

There was a slight bump as the landing gear settled on the NCIS roof and Clint dropped the back so they could exit. He went through shutting down the engines and heard behind him: “Director Fury. How nice of you to show your face.” The voice was female and unfamiliar, but Fury identified it easily. 

“Director Sheppard. I heard you have one of my agents in your morgue.”

“As far as I’m aware I don’t have any of your agents in my building, though you seem to have brought one on top of it. The person who was murdered is Agent Barton’s wife.”

“She kept my hawk sane; that makes her just as much of an agent as he is.”

Clint smiled as the director defended his wife, then cleared his face and made his way to the back of the ship. He was wearing his uniform, and before he disembarked he grabbed two guns, checked them, and holstered them. He also grabbed his bo staff; he had a feeling Natasha would show up and if she did he might get ‘recalibrated’ again without a weapon. He glanced to the side when he realized all conversation had stopped when he appeared. 

The NCIS director was a fairly pretty woman with red hair and a sharp gaze. She was dressed in a neatly pressed grey suit, the skirt stopping at her knees and tight enough it was clear she never intended to fight in it. She carried herself well, like a leader, and she was currently meeting Fury’s one-eyed stare like she could see all his secrets. 

Behind her were the agents he’d met before along with two more, all staring at him with varying degrees of interest and confusion. Fury, beside him, apparently wasn’t fond of it. “Is there a problem, Agents?” he asked, pulling his gaze away from Sheppard and shifting the glare to the investigators. 

“You won’t need the weapons,” Gibbs said. 

“Better to be prepared,” Fury said. “You never expect the ten-foot alien stalking you in a back alley, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there.”

“Okay, that only happened once,” Clint complained. “It’s not fair if you keep bringing it up.”

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you.”

“Not my fault if the ants lose the paperwork,” Clint grumbled. “Why am I all geared up, anyway? I thought this was a  _ friendly  _ visit.”

“Geared up is friendly with Director Sheppard. She prefers our weapons be visible.”

“Ohhhh,” Clint said, switching from sullen to teasing in an instant. “Someone  _ likes _ it here.”

“Get down there and do what you need to,” Fury barked. “And make it quick. I need to be back at the helicarrier in an hour.”

“If it’s Laura, I was planning on staying until the investigation is over,” Clint said, then turned towards Gibbs. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you guys were in DC. I must have missed that part of the introduction. I don’t expect you to go running through hoops to get a hold of me.”

“Appreciate the thought,” Gibbs returned. “Didn’t realize you were a pilot.”

Clint shrugged. “I’m a lot of things. Right now, I think I’m late for a meeting with Doctor Mallard?”

Gibbs nodded. “We’ll get you a visitor’s badge and take you down to Ducky. Normally I’d ask you to leave those behind, but if the Director’s allowing it I won’t say no.” He pointed to the guns. 

“He’ll have them anyway,” Sheppard said. “It’s better if they’re visible, as Director Fury said. Shall we take this inside?”

* * *

Gibbs watched as Barton stared at the body on the table. Tony’s ‘she’s not pretty’ remark had been harsh, but reality was harsher. Laura’s body had been scavenged by a few desperate animals, though not enough that the woman she’d been was hard to see. Her hair was matted, but Barton reached out as if to touch it anyways. Then he hesitated. 

“Will it screw up your investigation if I say goodbye?” he asked. 

“No,” Ducky said from beside Gibbs. “Go ahead, young man.”

The hand lightly pressed on the tangled knot, thumb brushing the temple. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “You didn’t deserve this.” He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the clean area of her forehead. “Goodbye, love.”

He stepped back and away. “Do you have someplace I can stay for a while? If not, I need to find a hotel.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t one of those deaths you’ve seen people come back from,” Gibbs said. 

“No, it’s not. It’s very real, and really her. I-“ He shuddered briefly. “I could use a restroom right now.”

Gibbs pointed out of autopsy and down the hall. “Down the hall to the right. Can’t miss it.” Tony was out there waiting after all, keeping an eye on Abby at the same time. Clint gave a sharp nod and left briskly. 

“What do you think, Duck?”

“Well I don’t think he killed his wife, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the doctor said. “He’s very likely running off so that he can grieve in private.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason most men feel they can’t show emotions. What’s that saying the military is so fond of? Men don’t cry? And he is grieving. He wasn’t disturbed by touching a dead body, which is not a good psychological state to be in.”

“What state is he in?”

“Well it’s hard to say definitively without doing a study of the boy, but few of them are good,” Dr Mallard said. “Touching the dead is seen as taboo by most, with only medical doctors and coroners being granted the exception. There are some religions, even, that believe touching the dead will curse the living.”

“Not interested in religion, Duck,” Gibbs said with a small smile as he cut off what was likely a long story. “Any new clues to her death?”

“I’m afraid not. Abby has the bullet which proved fatal, and I also sent up to her some samples of a foreign substance I found on her arms. Did she ever get DNA results from the fingernail scrapings?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I suggest you start there. Your young husband may be a bit damaged, but if you don’t find her killers he may get worse.”

“Worse?”

“Trauma isn’t like a physical wound, Jethro. It won’t close without help. That boy is very troubled, and very hurt. Wounded creatures have a tendency to lash out at those who try to help them. And at those they think harmed them. He may be able to relate to you most of all.”

“Not about me, Duck.”

“No, but he doesn’t know that.”

* * *

Tony DiNozzo entered the restroom Barton had gone into twenty minutes earlier. “Everything all right in here?” he asked, scrunching his nose at the lingering smell of vomit. 

Tony had warned the guy. 

He knocked on the closed stall door. He could see Barton’s boots facing the toilet, and could hear the rustling of a man hastily trying to pull himself together. “Barton? You didn’t pass out on the toilet did you, because that’s a sight I do  _ not  _ want to see.”

“I’m fine,” Barton gruffly answered, pulling open the stall door and pushing his way to the sink. He was quick, but Tony didn’t miss the red, puffy eyes. They weren’t wet, and his face looked more stern and angry than sad and grieving. But the tells were there. Tony could literally smell them. 

“I’d like to argue against that theory but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me it’s not my business.”

“It’s not.”

“In that case, I suggest a coffee and a movie.”

“Does that actually work?”

“Not usually, but it will get your mind off things for a bit. No need for you to sit around and wallow.”

Clint snorted. “Wallowing isn’t my style.”

“I can see that,” Tony said with a tone that said he didn’t believe a word of it. 

“How is the case going?”

“I can’t provide details of an ongoing investigation to you, you know that.”

“You can’t give me details, but you can tell me generally can’t you? What are the chances of this case going cold?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because at the slightest hint you can’t find the bastards who murdered my wife, I’m pulling people to help you. Fury will get over it.”

“How do you know there was more than one?”

“What?”

“You said ‘bastards’. Plural. How do you know there was more than one.”

Clint stared at him blankly. “Do you have any clue who I am or what I do?”

“Maybe.”

“Then you know no one sends just one when they try to hurt me or my family. They send a whole fucking team.” He turned and washed his hands, using some of the water to rinse his face. “If they’d only sent one, Laura would have taken him out. She was that kind of person.” He grabbed the staff again - seriously, he looked like some sort of grungy modern wizard with that thing; who carried around a staff anymore? - and went back out into the hallway with Tony trailing him. 

“This way,” Tony said, pointing back down the hall. “Anyone who throws up sees medical. Don’t worry; Duck’s not that bad.”

“You seriously think I picked up something here?” Clint asked, keeping a close watch on Tony. 

“Don’t jinx it,” Tony warned. “I got the plague here once. Honest to god plague.”

“You’re not instilling confidence here.”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“I’ll let you know in an hour.”

The doors to autopsy slid open and Barton’s gaze went immediately to the table where his wife had been. Fortunately, Tony had managed to get a text to Ducky in time to warn him and the body had already been moved back into storage. Palmer was wiping the steel down and gave them a smile. “Doctor Mallard said you could take a seat over there,” he said, pointing at the desk chair. “He’s just gone to get a few things.”

“And I’m back already,” came the accented voice as the man himself walked in from the back room. “Just in time, it seems. Antony said you’ve been ill?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Barton protested. “I’m fine now.”

“Should be a quick exam then,” Ducky countered, noticing how the blonde kept glancing at the autopsy table where his wife had been. Now that he had said his goodbyes, it looked like the SHIELD agent was actually getting less comfortable with his spouse’s passing. “Shall we reconvene in Abby’s lab?” 

“You aren’t going to do your thing here?” Tony asked, startled. He’d been examined in the morgue multiple times - including when he’d contracted the Plague - and Gibbs had used the autopsy tables to sleep before. It was as clean as a hospital, and with all the relevant equipment.

“Not everyone is comfortable getting examined in the morgue,” Ducky said drily. “It reminds them too much that they might be the next dead body. Abby’s lab is just around the corner, and I should be able to do a simple exam there.”

“It’s okay,” Barton said, speaking up and interrupting. “Here’s fine.”

“Very well,” Ducky said, eyeing the blonde for signs of stress and not finding the typical locked-jaw, clenched-fist, hands-trembling-from-terror signs. If anything, Barton looked resigned. “Mister Palmer? Antony? Some privacy, if you would,” the older man directed. Barton actually startled at that, green eyes going wide and head jerking back in a sharp movement as his mouth turned down in a frown.

“You da doc, doc,” Tony said, nodding his acceptance. “You remember the emergency protocols?”

“I ain’t gonna hurt the doc,” Clint muttered. “So long as he doesn’t hurt me first.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Careful there, cowboy. Your accent is slipping. We’re not exactly fond of leaving the good doctor alone with twitchy assassins. Happened a few times. Didn’t end well.”

Clint deliberately took his guns and emptied the ammo clips, setting them on the desk so he would have to reassemble them before he could use them. Then he took the staff and did  _ something _ , and suddenly it was shorter and looked more like a baton then a staff. He set that on the desk as well, looked at Tony, then took a deliberate step away from his weapons.

He looked miserable.

“Works for me,” Tony said. “You know how to get ahold of us, Duck. I’ll be on the other side of the door.”

* * *

“So you’ll be leaving within the hour? I know quite a few agents who would like a look at that aircraft,” Jenny Sheppard said as she descended the stairs, Director Fury only a half step behind her. She spoke loud enough to draw the attention of the team seated right next to the stairs, Timothy McGee and Ziva DaVid looking up at the sound of her voice.

“Not here to share, Director,” Fury said as he followed her, his one eye sweeping the room. “You have Mrs. Barton and the case, as well as SHIELD’s cooperation. That’s all.”

“Maybe someday soon we’ll change your mind,” Jenny said, turning at the bottom of the stairs to face her counterpart. She didn’t look disturbed by the denial, or surprised. In fact, there was a hint of a smile on her face that said she had gotten exactly what she wanted from Fury even if he hadn’t realized it yet. “Agent Gibbs?” she called without looking away from their guest. “Let’s track down Agent Barton for Fury. It seems like he’s lost himself a sniper again.”

“Mister Barton is currently in Abigail’s lab, resting,” Ducky cut in as he walked up from the elevator. Jenny turned and the smile on her face grew as she nodded at the doctor to continue. She hid it as Fury came up beside her. “I’ve asked Doctor Bailey from Bethesda to come and take a look.”

“He really sick?” Tim asked. “I mean, Tony did say you were looking him over after he threw up, but that’s not terribly unusual after a visit to the morgue.”

“Indeed, but our young Agent Barton is suffering from more than grief. He’s both sick and injured. Doctor Bailey will confirm treatment, but I can diagnose at least three cracked ribs, a cracked scapula, and more serious breaks on his right ankle and foot. All in various stages of healing which indicate he was injured over several months. I honestly don’t know how the young man is walking on that foot without a noticeable limp. And there is a curious line of deep bruising on his back which don’t show on his skin.” He looked over at the one-eyed man. “You wouldn’t happen to know why that is, would you?”

Fury’s gaze was stern and unyielding. “It must be your imagination,” he said firmly, voice deep and full of command. “Someone that injured wouldn’t clear medical.”

“Of course, of course. You agree, then, that Agent Barton should stay until medical clears him?” Ducky pushed.

“I’m sure we can arrange another flight for you,” Jenny said with a smile that was all sharp teeth and hard edges. “We have a wonderful conference room you can wait in until we can arrange for a taxi.”

“I will be happy to show you the way,” Ziva said, breaking into the conversation suddenly. “Perhaps get you a cup of coffee or tea?”

“Gibbs?” Jenny asked as the female agent led the other unhappy director off. “A word?”

“Inform me when Doctor Bailey arrives,” Ducky told Timothy. “I’ll have the x-rays waiting.”

“Doctor?” Jenny asked, her voice turning quiet. “I thought he was only sick.”

“He is, in fact, running a low-grade fever,” the older man confirmed, “not life-threatening, but enough it would have held him back from field duty for a few days. It was only his eyes which had me look deeper. It was clear the young man was in pain - physical pain. I had hoped it was only grief causing a psychosomatic reaction, but my tests proved otherwise.”

“It’s also not like you to announce confidential patient information to the entire squadroom,” Gibbs pointed out. “You’re usually one of the first to advocate doctor-patient confidentiality with the living.”

“I had Agent Barton’s permission,” Ducky said, lifting his chin a bit to look the other in the eye. “I believe his exact words were: ‘It don’t matter, doc. Unless the entire NCIS team hears it I’ll be flying him outta here within the hour.’”

“Sneaky,” Timothy commented.

“Indeed,” Jenny agreed. “But still permission, even if implicit. Gibbs?”

Gibbs nodded and followed her upstairs, her tone showing her concern even if her body language showed confidence. “What’s wrong?” he asked once they were behind closed doors.

“Funny,” Jenny asked. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Not sure what you’re saying,” the former sniper replied as his director locked her office doors and moved behind her desk. Her heels clicked loudly in the otherwise quiet office, and when she closed the blinds Gibbs raised an eyebrow at her unexpected move. Jenny liked the warmth and tone of natural light; artificial light was hard on the eyes and she already had to wear reading glasses for any long periods of gazing at text. She also liked to keep an eye on the navy yard through her window, making sure everything was in place (at least visually).

Jenny didn’t answer the silent question. “I can’t help but notice certain similarities between Mister Barton’s situation and your own.”

Gibbs hesitated, frowned, then waited for her to continue. He couldn’t deny there were similarities, but he wasn’t sure what point she was trying to make.

“Laura is not Shannon.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do I feel like you’re hot and cold with Barton? You’ve got McGee and DiNozzo investigating as if he’s your victim.”

“Pretty sure he’s  _ someone’s _ victim based on Duck’s report.”

“Nevertheless, with SHIELD involved I need this investigation to be above board.  _ Nothing _ can be out of place, Gibbs. If at any point you feel you need pulled out of this, if you get too close, you let me know immediately.”

“We’ll do what needs doing. You know that.”

“I know, but regulations say I had to officially give the option. Unofficially, I need you to keep Agent Barton here as long as possible. I asked Doctor Mallard to claim his illness bad enough to keep him from piloting; I hadn’t expected him to actually be injured.”

Gibbs frowned. “What?”

“We’re dealing with SHIELD, which is a shadow agency in the government, and Tony Stark, the man who very nearly crushed our military and every other nation’s when he stopped designing and manufacturing weapons. Luckily the Navy has never been interested in Stark Tech, but the Army was hit hard. SHIELD wants their asset back and Stark wants his boyfriend.”

“So as long as Barton’s here, we have the power.”

“So long as he’s here they’ll both cooperate and no one tries to push Laura Barton under a rug,” Jenny countered. “She deserves the truth as much as any other Navy dependent.”

Gibbs smirked. “That’s not all you’re doing, is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jenny said, leaning back in her chair. “I just want to know as much about Agent Barton as possible. For the case, of course. And I’m willing to indulge his desire to stay in the city until her murder is solved.”

“He uses bows and sticks,” Gibbs half laughed. “How good a sniper could he be?”

Jenny leaned forward, steepling her hands and pressing her mouth to her fingertips for a brief moment. “What I’m about to tell you, you never heard, you understand? This conversation isn’t happening.”

Gibbs sobered immediately. “All ears.”

“Agent Barton is a top-level spy and assassin. He’s not like you. He’s not a sniper. He’s an  _ assassin _ . Trained in multiple methods of killing which are difficult to trace. He fires a bow and an explosion goes off. No one’s looking for an archer, they’re looking for a bomber. But an archer was the one who did it.”

Blue eyes narrowed in consideration. It would be extremely difficult to pull off; specialized to the extreme and hardly worth the training since most of the technology didn’t exist. Exploding arrows were more the realm of comic books than reality. 

“And less than four months ago,” Jenny continued, “an alien came to Earth and took over his brain.”

“Now you’re punking me,” Gibbs laughed. For a moment, he’d thought she was serious. She may as well have admitted to pink elephants dancing in the room. 

But she didn’t join his laughter, instead her hands falling to the table clasped together as if in prayer. Her mouth was turned down in a frown and her shoulders were tight with tension. 

“I wish to God that I were,” she said when she had his attention again. “You’ve seen conditioning - brainwashing. It happened in an instant and he was aware the whole time. Trapped in his own body as his hands killed friends and coworkers. And they brought him back with a blow to the head just to throw him back into fight after fight. You know how long it took us to break character after an undercover assignment. This must have been ten times worse.”

“He said he was ‘unmade’.”

“I imagine he was referring to this incident.”

“He also said he never talked to anyone about it.”

Jenny let the silence linger for a moment, confirming Gibbs’ statement without actually saying it aloud, and he spun around in anger to reach for the door. “I read his after-action report and Fury reluctantly agreed you should know,” Jenny said before he reached it, stopping the other man in his tracks. “Only you, Gibbs. No hints to the team. Steer them clear if it comes up.”

“He needs help,” Gibbs said, spinning back around. “He’s obviously damn good at hiding when he’s hurt. What does that mean?”

“I imagine he, like you, won’t stop until the job is done,” Jenny said softly. “So go out there and finish it.”

* * *

“Someone better have  _ something _ for me,” Gibbs said as he came down the stairs and back into the squadroom. 

“Abby’s lab is occupied with Agent Barton and the doctor from Bethesda, boss, but she did send some information up on her DNA analysis from Laura Barton’s fingernails,” Tim said. Tony had come up from the lab, apparently feeling he wasn’t needed on guard duty anymore, and Ziva was back from escorting the SHIELD director to the conference room with the phone pressed to her ear.

“Is there an Agent with Barton?” Gibbs asked, suddenly worried his favorite lab tech was alone with an assassin who could have PTSD.

“Of course, boss,” Tony said. “He seemed more comfortable with Dorneget, so little Dorney volunteered to stay with them. Last I heard they were talking Batman while the docs looked over x-rays.”

“Batman?”

“Somehow both like comics,” Tony said while making a face. “I tried to talk movies with Barton, but he shrugged it off like 007 was  _ trivial _ . Like he’d never heard of a  _ flux capacitor  _ or  _ John Wayne _ . One word out of Dorney’s mouth about Green Lantern, though, and those two are chatting like a house on fire.”

Gibbs frowned, but accepted both the news and the information. “So what did the analysis find?”

A few taps to Tim’s keyboard had the plasma lighting up and showing a map. “The DNA didn’t match anything we have on file, which means we’ll have to get samples to match. But mixed with the blood was dirt that didn’t match anything on the Barton farm.”

“Transferred from the killer?” Tony asked. “This isn’t an episode of  _ Bones _ ; that won’t hold up in court.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the only clue we’ve got,” Tim admitted. “It’s a long shot at best, but Abby said it’s likely from this region.” A circle on the map showed a stretch of beach and about 50 miles inland. “If our killers were in this area recently, I identified two potential locations they may have stayed: an abandoned military camp that’s at least 60 years old, or the active military base right on the edge of the potential area.”

“You’re assuming military,” Gibbs pointed out. It was both a question and a statement.

“I’m also assuming there aren’t more places on the map we don’t know about. It’s a wide area; there’s no telling how many structures are unaccounted for,” Tim said.

“Why military?”

“Barton gave me that hint,” Tony cut in. “He said they’d need a team to take down his wife, and that she could have handled just one. Made her sound like a real badass. So our killers must have also had training. While there is some crime in the area, the military presence keeps organized crime and big offenses pretty low. The mafia pretty much keeps away.”

“What about roamers? Opportunists? Bounty hunters? Hitmen?”

“That’s why the abandoned camp came up,” Tim said. “It’s still listed as a historic site, but it’s remote and not monitored. If you were passing through it would look like a good place to hide out. The benefits of an open campground paired with an easily defensible location.”

“Tell me we have something else to go on,” Gibbs demanded, unsatisfied with leads pulled from practically nothing which would never get them to a specific person, much less reasonable cause to search a location. “How does a woman get shot and her home blown up and we have nothing but some dirt and a wild goose chase?”

“We have a bit more, actually,” Ziva said as she set the phone down on the receiver. “I just got off the phone with the Barton’s neighbor, Marley. He’s agreed to meet with us for an interview. Apparently he got suspicious when Luce and Ginger showed up and no one came looking to take them home. The PD directed him to us.”

“Luce and Ginger, huh?” Tony asked. “Who are they? Barton’s sexy sidekicks?”

“Apparently Barton’s little girl wanted a pony. So he got her two.”

Tony visibly deflated. “No fair. Names like those should be on strippers, not a little girl’s ponies. You’ve officially ruined Ginger for me, Ziva. I hate you.”

“Go with Ziva, see what you can find,” Gibbs said, ignoring Tony’s banter. “McGee, you’re with me. Grab your gear.”

“Where we headed, boss?” Tim asked as he moved to obey, grabbing his backpack, badge, and weapon. 

“The crime scene,” Gibbs said. “We missed something.”

* * *

“I want s’getti,” Lila said, staring very intently at her homework with her chin stuck out in a pout.

“Sure,” Tony said, shrugging. “I can order something.”

“Nuh-uh!” Cooper protested immediately, his head shooting up in alarm. “Dad always cooks spaghetti and I always help!”

Tony stalled, tablet loose in his hand as he looked towards Captain America with a slightly lost look. “Um…” 

“I’ve never made it before, but I can follow a recipe?” Steve offered. “You don’t really want Tony cooking.”

“Excuse you,” Tony said with a glare. “I’ll have you know that I can too cook.”

“Last time you tried, we ended with a pot full of black gunk Natasha still swears was moving.”

“Could have happened to anyone.”

“You were  _ boiling water _ .”

Tony frowned. “My point still stands. We don’t know what happened. It could have happened to anyone. Besides, do you know how many recipes there are for spaghetti alone? There is literally no way to optimize it.”

“Well if you’d just pick one and follow it instead of trying to upgrade it…” Steve said, trailing off.

Tony huffed.

They’d lost the attention of the children, though, who had turned back to the assignments Bruce had given them, so the blonde felt comfortable softly adding: “I think you may have gone a bit overboard with the toys.”

Clint had only been gone a day - not even overnight yet - and Tony had already braved the aisles of Toys ‘R Us with Cooper, unwilling to take more than one mini-agent out at once just yet. Pepper was going to take Lila out tomorrow, calming the little girl’s tantrum with the promise of girl time.

Tony had gotten Cooper all the toys he wanted, plus some they thought Lila might like as well. The living room was now littered with stuffed rabbits, legos, build your own model plane kits, coloring books, and a bike Tony had promised to show Cooper how to ride down on the gym’s running track.

“They need something to occupy them,” Tony said with a shrug. “Clint didn’t want them playing video games for hours.”

“He also never said it was okay to buy them a bunch of stuff,” Steve said. “I’m not - look, I’m not trying to say it was wrong to buy things for them,” he tried to clarify. “It’s just that I know some parents get really picky about what toys their kids are allowed to play with. I’m not sure it was a good idea to get so much without telling him first.”

Tony frowned. “I don’t see the problem. All the labels said they were okay for their ages. I double checked. And JARVIS ran checks for recalls on everything, and it all cleared.”

Steve shook his head. “Nevermind. Just - if Clint gets mad, don’t get mad back, okay? Tell him you don’t get it.”

“Gets mad about  _ what _ ?”

“Trust me,” Steve said. “Just tell him you don’t get it. It won’t hurt your pride to tell him you don’t know why he’s mad.”

The dark haired man stalled, a bit hurt. He hated when someone wouldn’t explain the problem to him, since that meant there was a problem and it usually meant they thought he was too stupid to understand. Looking around the living room he still didn’t see what the issue was; it wasn’t like he had bought the whole store (tempting) or overflowed the apartment with custom toys (also tempting). Clint had said Lila’s stuffed rabbit would need replacing and he’d gotten her several options. Cooper was old enough that just doodling on paper or playing with stuffed animals wouldn’t occupy him for long. He needed toys that would keep him active (the bike) or keep him thinking (the legos and planes). Sure, he might have gotten the expensive toys - but he figured it was like lab equipment: the more expensive, the better the quality. 

Unfortunately, Tony couldn’t do his usually flippant remarks which would allow him to retreat to his lab and process (or not) in solitude. There were three kids here, one of which was a biohazard baby, and he wasn’t about to abandon Captain America in the middle of a mission.

The silence must have continued on for too long because Steve let the subject drop. “Come on, Coop,” he said instead. “Think you can tell me how your dad makes dinner?”

Cooper looked up, frowning, his gaze drifting between the smiling Steve and Tony’s slumped shoulders. “Are you fighting?” he asked.

“We’re disagreeing,” Tony was quick to cut in before Steve could say anything. He knew enough about young kids and adults fighting to last a lifetime, and that was one scar he did  _ not _ want to inflict on any mini-agents. “It’s not the same.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve seen fighting,” Tony answered softly. “It’s definitely not the same. You have to be careful, though, because disagreeing can lead to fighting if you don’t stop it soon enough.”

“Oh. Ok. So what’s disagreeing mean?”

“It means Steve thinks one thing and I think another, but neither of us are wrong. For example, what do you think is the absolute best flavor of ice cream?”

“Strawberry, duh,” Cooper said.

“Well, I disagree. I think Moose Tracks is awesome. See? We both think two different things, and that’s okay. Neither of us is wrong.”

“So then what’s fighting?” Lila asked.

“Fighting is saying that because you like strawberry, I’m not  _ allowed _ to like anything else,” Tony said, folding himself into a corner of the couch and propping his tablet on the arm. “It’s unfair, and mean.”

“So if I want ice cream and you say I have to eat broccoli, we’re fighting?” Cooper asked.

Tony smirked to himself. He’d be flailing if he hadn’t had a similar conversation with Jarvis - the real Jarvis - when he was five. “Nope. Since I’m not saying you can’t  _ want _ ice cream. You can want it all you like. You just have to eat broccoli sometimes too.” Of course, he’d been asking Jarvis about circuit boards and computers, but that was all relative. 

“There are other differences too,” Steve said, unable to keep himself out of the conversation. “Disagreeing can be done with inside voices, like what we’re doing now. Fighting usually involves shouting, screaming, yelling, and even hitting sometimes. If someone gets hurt, then it’s a fight.”

Cooper frowned, looked at Tony, then looked at Steve again. Something in his young mind didn’t like this new addition to the explanation. “Are you sure you weren’t fighting then?” he asked.

“No one shouted, Coop,” Lila said, her little eyes rolling.

“No, but he said if someone gets hurt it was a fight,” Cooper said, pointing at Steve. “That means feelings too, right?”

Two pairs of eyes looked back up at the American hero, waiting on an answer. “Well of course feelings count,” Steve sputtered.

“Then you were fighting,” Cooper said, nodding. “Momma says you’re supposed to say sorry if you hurt someone. Even if it’s just their feelings.”

Steve hesitated. “Did I hurt your feelings, Coop?” he asked.

Cooper shook his head and pointed at Tony. “You hurt Uncle Tony’s.”

Tony sputtered. “Now wait just a minute - since when am I an uncle? I thought I said that wasn’t going to be a thing.”

Steve frowned at him. “Tony,” he reprimanded lightly. 

The dark-haired man winced, then frowned when he realized what he’d done.  _ Great way to show the munchkin you’re not hurt, Stark, _ he thought to himself. “I am totally not Uncle material,” he said.

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. It wasn’t my intention,” he said, then looked back to Cooper. “Ready to fix dinner?”

Apparently satisfied with the discussion, Cooper let his pencil fall to the table and scrambled out of his chair to rush to the kitchen, saying “I have to make sure he does it right.” 

Lila had long since lost interest in the conversation and returned to trying and spell out her name. She had all the right letters on the page, she just didn’t quite have them in the right places. It looked more like an artist trying to arrange letters on a page then someone trying to spell. He settled closer to her to help her learn to stay on the line as he heard the super soldier puttering around in the kitchen and Cooper’s boasting “I’m a  _ good _ helper.”

As she tried again, Tony reached over and did a quick scan of Cooper’s work. It was a few pages from a science workbook Bruce had given the boy to keep him learning until Pepper got them enrolled in school. The page wasn’t complete, but the answers which were there looked mostly right.

He hoped Pepper got them enrolled soon. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with them otherwise, aside from buy them things. Part of her day was eaten up by board meetings and a slimy little man going by the name Aldrich Killian who was trying to worm his way into SI (or her pants, Tony wasn’t really sure), and so much of getting them enrolled involved paperwork. He knew she would get it finished, though. Pepper always came through for him.

* * *

Tim shifted some of the dirt back with his glove, revealing blasted bricks and black soot from a fireplace. The metal rack for the logs was twisted and broken, mangled from multiple explosions. “Do you really think we’re going to find something new?” he asked. 

Gibbs was standing on the far side of the house, where the walls were still partially standing. He had a frown on his face saying something wasn’t adding up. “Where were the kids?” he shouted at Tim so he could be heard over the distance. 

McGee carefully made his way closer, doing his best not to disturb the evidence. “What do you mean?”

“Barton was on a mission when this happened, his wife was carried off and killed less than a mile from her home in some abandoned mess of a building. Barton looks for her, doesn’t find her, reports to the police, then shows up in New York with three kids. Where were they when all this happened?”

“You don’t think they-“ Tim cut himself off, hesitant. “They couldn’t be witnesses.”

“Well he damn sure didn’t take them on his mission. And there’s no sign they were wandering around searching for their mama. Barton may have told us if they were - but he also might  _ not  _ have. Take a deeper look.”

“At what?”

“Everything. This wall doesn’t look up to code, but it’s still standing.” Gibbs pulled back some of the drywall to show a Kevlar reinforcement next to the insulation. “He made a pocket for himself.”

“He may have done other renovations as well,” Tim said, catching on. “Maybe even a panic space for the kids.”

Gibbs nodded. “We need to know if they were here - and if they weren’t, where they were.”

It took them three hours to go over the space again, this time looking for hiding spots, before McGee found it. “Boss!” he called, snapping a photo of the seam he’d found in the concrete after moving some debris. It looked perfectly normal, following along a doorway and looking exactly like concrete poured for an addition to the house. 

“What’s up?”

“I think this is our door,” the younger agent said. He pointed to the frame of the doorway. “There’s catches hidden in the design. It’s the only doorway with an elaborate design as far as I can tell. If there were more, they aren’t standing. All the other intact ones are simple. It’s a weird place to put a seam. This room would have been part of the original house, which should have been one slab.”

“Unless there was a fault they had to fix, yeah,” Gibbs agreed. “So if it’s a door, open it up.”

“I’m not sure how,” Tim admitted, frowning as he ran a gloved finger over the catches in the design and looked for buttons, sensors, hinges - anything. “It’s gotta be simple enough for the kids to use. There’s no way they could lift concrete-“ His phone rang, interrupting him. “Sorry boss,” he said, scrambling. He stepped to the side so Gibbs could look it over as he answered in hushed, harsh whispers. 

Gibbs frowned as he examined the frame, ignoring the younger agent. Tim was right; it was elaborate. He carefully examined where the frame was attached to the wall with gloved hands, then took his knife and pried off the decorated frame. There wasn’t anything behind it, and no wires coming out of it. Gibbs had a suspicion it was important for reasons completely unrelated to the case. Someone had used the children’s measurements over the years to create reliefs of animals and plants. He could see the lines and numbers when he looked closely. The top portion was missing from one side and the other was partly singed, but with a bit of work he thought he might be able to restore the two sides. 

The seam was from where the concrete was repoured. It could have happened for any number of reasons, and could very well be part of the area they were looking for. But it wasn’t the door. 

Tim hung up and turned back around, confused. “That was Dorneget,” he said. “The director’s doing an interrogation.”

“On Barton?”

“No, he’s observing.”

“On who then?”

“I don’t know,” McGee admitted. “But whoever it is confessed to killing Laura Barton.”

* * *

Jenny Shepard held her head high as she entered the interrogation room, not at all concerned about the brute of a man in the room with her. He may not have the beefiness of a typical bully, but she’d been in enough men-only clubs to know this man thought his steel set could get him through anything. She would prove him wrong.

“I didn’t call for a lawyer,” he said, accent thick and heavy in all the wrong places, setting off alarm bells in her head. 

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t send for one,” the director replied. “Before we get started, I’d like you to look over a few things, sign a few documents, make sure all your legal rights are clear. You do have the right to legal representation, if you’d like. That was explained to you?” She was not going to let this man off on a technicality.

“It was,” the man said, pulling the documents close. 

The director smiled. “Good. Please read through the paperwork. I’ll wait.”

Jenny wasn’t like Gibbs. She liked to make her suspects sweat, just like he did, but she prefered if they were thinking about all the wrong things while they did. Sometimes it was the breasts under her blouse, sometimes it was the easy way she smiled, and sometimes it was sending them spiralling into confusion. When they were focused on something else, suspects let information slip out unintentionally, which was what she needed. She was sure this man could give her all the full and accurate details of the crime; there was only one problem.

He was the wrong man.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked as he shuffled the papers around.

“These forms, they are for a United States citizen. I am here on a visa. They do not apply,” the man said, pushing them towards her.

She pushed them back. “Oh, I think you’ll find they do. You’ll also find identity theft on the list of crimes we’re charging you with.”

Brown eyes darted towards her, hesitant. She smiled. He didn’t think they were capable of breaking through his cover, but Abby was relentless. “Your accent isn’t that good,” she informed him primly. “So I had some people check.” It wasn’t a complete profile; Abby was still working. But it was enough that Jenny had decided to proceed with the interrogation. She pulled a news clipping from her folder. It was a copy, but it was accurate. She’d had Cynthia check against the library newspaper archives. Digital copies could be so easily altered. “Guess you won just too many trophies,” Jenny said, sounding like it was just a damn shame that he was so good.

“You do not know who I am.”

“Correction: I know damn well who you are. I don’t care. I want to know who you work for.”

The man looked at the glass, smirked, then leaned back in his chair. His accent fell away like a snake shedding its skin. “I am the man you are arresting for killing dear, sweet Laura Barton. It’s a shame we couldn’t kill the kids, but I hope they got caught in the blast.”

_ We _ , Jenny noticed. Confirmation that there was more than one. “Considering the sentence for murdering children, I’m surprised you have such an interest in it. Are you going to sign the forms, or shall I read them to you?” she asked with a smile, redirecting his attention again. He’d already slipped once, and the way he described Laura wasn’t a coincidence. He’d slip again. “I promise, I will read them word for word for you and the camera to ensure you are fully aware of your  _ rights _ .” Her smile might have shown a bit of tooth at that, but she was the director. People expected her to have bite.

He signed the forms with a flourish.

She handed him a new set. “This time,” she almost whispered, “use your real name.”

* * *

Clint watched the director through the one way glass, grumpily keeping his weight off the light cast the doctor had forced on his foot despite Clint’s protests. He’d managed to avoid the arm sling, at least. 

“She knows what she’s doing,” Dorneget said, trying to be reassuring.

“I know, but it doesn’t feel right,” Clint said. In his gut, he knew something was wrong. Someone in the know was taking advantage of the situation to get a guy in jail. Clint was fairly certain he’d spend a few months behind bars, do something for his employers, and then suddenly have evidence proving he was innocent all along. And then no one would be looking at his wife’s case anymore.

Then again, he’d already killed the agents who had actually killed her. Maybe he should save everyone the hassle and just say so. Confess. Keep NCIS from arresting the wrong man.

When the accent fell away, Clint shivered. He knew that voice from somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where. It gave him chills just hearing it, and he moved back away from the glass without thought. 

“You okay?” Dorneget asked. 

“Yeah,” Clint answered, though his voice was too soft for his liking. He cleared his throat and tried again: “Yeah, just dizzy for a moment there. Must have been the pain meds doc forced on me.”

“I’ll get you a chair-“

“No, that’s okay. It’s nothing,” Clint insisted. 

“The last thing we need is you falling over and getting a concussion,” Dorneget insisted. “I can poke my head out and have someone bring a chair. I don’t even have to leave the room. It’s no trouble at all.” Without waiting for a protest, he did exactly that. Quietly he spoke with someone just outside the room, and a few minutes later there was a folding chair for Clint to sit in. 

The director was still talking with the suspect, but she hadn’t gotten very far. Clint knew at this point it was a waiting game, but interrogation was more Tasha’s specialty than his. It took too much time, and Clint had always been in a rush to get back to his family. 

“So who is this guy?” Clint asked as he perched on the edge of the seat. Dorneget made a questioning noise, not quite a word, and Clint elaborated: “I’m guessing the director of NCIS doesn’t interrogate every suspect.”

“No, she doesn’t,” the young agent confirmed. “She also doesn’t usually let those involved in the case watch interrogations, so it’s a day for unusual things. To be honest, I’m not really sure why she picks the cases she decides to help with. I thought this one was pretty obvious, though.”

“Oh?”

“She wants to know more about SHIELD. I’d never even heard of it before today, but I’m not surprised the director knew. She’s pretty scary smart.”

“But the man she’s questioning isn’t connected to SHIELD,” Clint said with certainty. He didn’t know every agent, but he knew enough that he would have picked up on the training for those he didn’t recognize by face.

_ “And you were the only one there,” _ Director Sheppard was confirming.  _ “No one else was in the house?” _

_ “No. The little hawk was out doing his tricks. It was too bad, really.” _

_ “Why’s that?” _

Shoulders shrugged, and narrow eyes stared into the glass.  _ “He chose the wrong ringmaster for his circus,”  _ the man said.  _ “The wrong master to hold his leash. It always pays better to be on the winning side.” _

_ “What makes you think his side is losing?” _

Clint covered his mouth with his hand, fidgeting to keep his blood flowing and hide how pale he’d gotten. The voice was familiar still, but the blonde couldn’t place it. The words, however, were obviously a clue meant for him. Clint just couldn’t let himself believe what they were hinting at - what they implied. Coulson had promised when Clint had come in, shaking and desperate, puking every ounce of food he’d managed to swallow that day and for the following week, that the Ringmaster would be taken care of. That he would be gone, forever, and Clint would never have to worry about him again. Clint had seen the file; according to SHIELD’s records the man had been dead for close to - what - ten years now? A little less?

“I’m sorry you have to listen to this,” Dorneget said. “If you want, I can take you out and you can watch the recordings.”

“No, it’s okay,” Clint countered. “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine. I promise he’s unarmed. He had to be checked two times before he even got to this room, and then once more when the director decided to question him herself. I doubt he’s a huge threat. He’s some sort of circus clown from Iowa.”

“He’s what?” Clint asked, voice failing him for a moment.

“A circus clown. That’s why he keeps making those references.”

“Can you get a message to the director in there without interrupting the questioning?”

“I can send her a message to her phone. She keeps it on silent so I don’t know if she’ll see it, but she’ll probably check it at some point.”

“Tell her,” Clint swallowed, paused, and carefully considered his wording. “Tell her the next time she doesn’t believe him to tell him she wasn’t born on the first of May.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s a test,” Clint said. “If he really was in the circus, he’ll react to it.” At least, he would if he was from a certain circus. It was a mangled reference at best. 

Dorneget sent the text. It took another five minutes for the director to reach a break where she stopped to look at her phone and pretend casualness while the suspect stewed silently. Clint saw her raise an eyebrow at one point, and carefully set her phone in her lap where she would be able to feel it go off and take a quick glance if necessary.

_ “Are you ready to tell me who you work for?” _

_ “I don’t work for anyone,”  _ the man said.  _ “It was opportunity only.” _

_ “Bull,” _ the director countered, ignoring the opening to use the phrase.  _ “You aren’t smart enough to be your own ringmaster, and I very much doubt an opportunistic killer would destroy the house without stealing the goods.” _

_ “How do you know nothing was missing?” _ the man countered.  _ “The house was destroyed. Burned to the ground.” _

_ “Was it?”  _ the director asked.  _ “So you’re telling me you stood there the entire time it burned and watched to make sure nothing was left. You must have been standing there a very long time. Was it cold out? Did you get hungry? Maybe you paced a bit in the garden while you waited for the fire to work up to a good full blast.” _

_ “Yes, yes. Those things.” _

Clint almost laughed. He didn’t have a garden.

_ “You know, I wasn’t born on the first of May,”  _ the director said, leaning back as she took the second opportunity to try out the phrase.  _ “I can tell you’re lying.” _

The man sneered.  _ “Your birthdate has nothing to do with it. I’m telling you the truth.” _

“He never worked in a circus,” Clint said, letting out a breath of air. “He missed the cue. He didn’t get it. Even someone from the smallest dog and pony show would get that reference. And a good half dozen outside it who just happen to watch the right TV shows.” And from the wrong (right) one they would have laughed at her for misusing it. 

_ “I’ll have my agents escort you back to your cell. We will move forward with your impersonation charges, and throw in a little something for impeding an investigation.” _

_ “That’s it?” _

_ “Unless you want to divulge who hired you to lie to me.” _

_ “I’m telling you I did it. I ain’t no gaucho like your boy in there; I don’t flip over and ask for belly rubs and treats. You want to find who killed Laura Barton?”  _ He leaned back, raising his hands up in the air.  _ “You’re looking at him. Come back and see me anytime.” _

_ “I’ll keep that in mind.” _

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Clint muttered. Why would he ignore one circus term and throw another in later? And why would he call Clint a gaucho - an outsider? Technically it fit him; Clint hadn’t been born to the life. He and his brother had joined after running away from home. But he’d been young enough the circus had practically raised him.

“Mister Barton?” Dorneget asked. “We need to wait for the suspect to be moved back to his cell, but you really aren’t looking the best. I can call Doctor Mallard for you if you’d like?”

“No, it’s okay Dorney,” Clint said. “I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”


	5. Tale Spins

Tony walked into the workshop with purpose, determined to get something meaningful accomplished in the time he had. Steve had agreed to stay in Clint’s rooms while the mini-agents were sleeping, and Tony figured he had until midnight before someone (Steve) started worrying. “Pull up the priority list, J. What do I have?”

U, Butterfingers, and Dum-E perked up at the sound of his voice, all coming to greet him. He gave them a brief check as he listened to JARVIS. “Per Miss Potts, top priority is the new StarkPhone you promised to have to the board by the end of the week. Prototypes are already complete, and an intern assembled. All that remains is the final coding and testing. IT has confirmed the OS is ready for upload, and provided both the install file and code documentation for you. Internal testers completed sign off last night, with less than ten open defects.”

“Boring,” Tony sing-songed, noting the over 20 deferred defects JARVIS had displayed on the screen. “Instal the OS, send the doc to my tab, and tell me what else we got.” Dum-E must have been trying to figure out corners again; there was a scuff mark on his side panel. Tony grabbed a rag and cleaner, then began to gently wipe at the mark, mindful of the pressure panels he’d put there so Dum-E could feel when he bumped into things. 

“Hawkeye’s new armor, still in planning. Upgrade to your armor: currently in production but not yet ready for assembly. War Machine’s repulsors are running hot, and Mr. Rhodes has asked if he can drop the armor off for diagnostics next week. The new glass for the Hulk room is currently undergoing testing. Current results are positive, and the structural engineers have tentatively approved designs pending final results. The Widow Bites-“

“Is there anything ready for assembly now?” Tony interrupted. Designing he could do outside the workshop if needed, and coding could be looked at anywhere he had a tablet or a phone. JARVIS handled production so long as the workshop stayed stocked, machining and building all the needed custom pieces. What the AI couldn’t do was assemble, and his testing functionality was limited. He could simulate, he could calculate, and he could estimate, but it wasn’t the same. As close to human as the AI was getting, the illogical human aspects were still beyond him. 

Besides, Tony got his degree because he liked to fix things, not delegate. 

“The subcutaneous implants are ready to link to the Mark 42,” JARVIS admitted after a moment. “They have been sterilized and are ready for final assembly.”

“And you didn’t tell me that first?” Tony asked. “You’re holding out on me, J. Que up the sequencing and let me see them.”

The implants were the smallest things Tony had ever made. It had taken some time to get it right; he wasn’t a medical doctor and it was important these didn’t add to his ever-growing list of pre-existing conditions. He didn’t want another episode of poisoning. 

He also didn’t want one of his falling-through-space anxiety attacks to call half a dozen repulsor beams. 

The implants were about the size of a grain of rice, maybe a touch smaller. Because of the small size they couldn’t actually  _ do  _ much. There literally was not enough room. So he made up for the lack of space with quantity. There were six to be inserted just beneath the skin, so there would be less signal interference. All six output a signal the Mark 42 could latch into and target when Tony needed the suit, and each also monitored a single bodily function. Heartbeat, oxygen levels, blood pressure, adrenaline, temperature, and location. The Mark 42 would interpret the signals the implants sent and extrapolate when it was needed. Either Tony would call for it or his distress would trigger the call sequence. 

“Damn, that’s small,” Tony said as he picked up mone with a pair of sterilized tweezers. “I’m  _ good. _ ”

“Sir, if I may? Since the implants cannot be upgraded once installed, and the reactor is essentially a large magnet, perhaps it would be wise to consider alternative shielding? If an implant happens to migrate too close to the reactor, it would cease to function and could call the suit to you in error.”

“Word of advice, don’t use the word  _ install _ for anything that goes under my skin when Pepper’s here. She’ll think she has to change the reactor again.”

“Noted, sir.”

“And don’t worry so much. I got it covered,” Tony continued. “Put on some music while Daddy gets these coated and prepped. We’ll test their signal and then get an injector and see what happens.”

At his core, Tony liked to build things. And when they were broken (sometimes even when they weren’t) he liked to fix them. Coding had been an obvious skill to obtain when the world hadn’t advanced fast enough for him, regulations keeping technology at a slow pace while his mind flew into the future. But building suits and coding AIs didn’t stop him from waking up in cold sweats because he’d had another nightmare of falling through space. Pepper could barely stand it; how could he expect kids to understand when she couldn’t?

Tony knew he wasn’t father material. He hadn’t even been friend material; he’d resorted to building his own friends when he found himself alone. How was he supposed to cohabitate with a single father and his three kids?

Maybe the universe had made a mistake. Maybe he’d been meant for Barton  _ before _ the hawk had married Laura, and now that it was after the soulmark was - what - out of date? Expired? That made more sense than Tony Stark raising children. They’d be lucky to come out of it still sane. 

And what about the soulmark? The sudden matching tattoos between himself and Clint Barton, of all people. He hadn’t expected that. 

To be fair, he didn’t know Clint that well. He’d seen him, worked with him during the battle, and bought him schwarma all of once. That was it. According to the file he’d gotten from SHIELD when Clint was compromised, the agency didn’t know much about him either. Tony had no idea how “goof-off” and “deadly, expert marksman” and “spy” were all supposed to go together. Throw “father” into the mix and Tony’s head was really spinning. 

But he was Tony’s soulmate, so Tony was going to try. It would take some negotiating, but Pepper was good at that. He wasn’t sure why she wasn’t included in their mark, but that was okay. He didn’t love her any less because some strange bodily reaction hadn’t occurred when they touched. 

The kids, though, might be an issue. Tony had nothing against them, and he kind of admired Clint for having them, Tony just didn’t know what to do with them. He’d bought them things (was that wrong?) and made sure they were fed (cooking couldn’t be  _ that _ hard, he just had to start simpler) and then floundered. What did kids do? He couldn’t use his own childhood to judge; he was smart enough to know that. 

As he coated the second implant, Tony’s thoughts turned back to the mark. When he’d been younger Tony had craved a soulmark. A soulmark meant a soulmate, and that sounded so much more reliable and permanent than  _ husband and wife.  _ Then Howard reminded him of all the tragic tales of soulmates separating, dying, and being miserable. He’d told Tony no one would really want to be his soulmate - all he’d get is a bunch of fakes with tattoos trying to take advantage. Tony had learned to fear new touches from that. It was safe to touch anyone he’d touched before, but he had to be cautious with new people. 

Then his parents had died, and he’d touched a hell of a lot of new people just to prove he could. 

Eventually the dream of being one of the .02% with soulmarks was forgotten, leaving behind only an occasional slight hesitation at skin to skin contact with someone new which no amount of touch-saturation could erase. Tony felt it was incredibly unfair that Clint was dismissing the mark and leaving Tony and Steve to watch his kids while he chased after his wife’s (dead) killers, but he understood. He ran away a lot too. 

“Sir, the code is finished downloading to the StarkPhone. It is ready for your testing,” JARVIS said, interrupting Tony’s circling thoughts. “The implants will require at least another hour to completely dry, to be safe for injection.”

“Let’s get this party started, then,” Tony sighed. He wasn’t ready to stare at the screen for an hour. “Bring me the box with the Mark 23 remains and let’s see what we can salvage.”

Dum-E and U let out a strange series of beeps that had Tony sniffing in amusement. “Oh really now. Do you want to wear the dunce cap again? It’s a box of parts. Fetch.”

* * *

“Do you think he’s going to stay up there all morning?” Tony asked in a stage whisper to Tim, not looking up at the object of their discussion, Clint, who was perched on the railing of the second level near the wall.

Tim shrugged. 

“It bothers me, is all,” Tony said. “How does that not hurt his-“ he winced, then gestured down to where he was sitting. “You know.”

Tim winced in sympathetic pain. “Maybe he’s got protection?”

“So he knew he was going to perch on an inch-thin railing for hours?” Tony asked harshly. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”

Tony spun around at the new voice, eying the intruder like he was a new and interesting bug he might want to squash. “Who are you?”

“Agent Phil Coulson. I’m Hawkeye’s handler. I’m here to speak to Agent Gibbs. He should be returning any minute now. I’ll wait.”

“Gibbs is in a meeting with the director,” Tony said with a frown, turning to his computer to type a quick  _ WTF?  _ to McGee. “He’ll probably be hours.”

“Or a few minutes,” Gibbs said as he trotted down the stairs. “Got anything new?”

“Not yet, boss,” Tony said. “Still trying to track down where our confessor came from.”

“What’re you sitting around for, then?” Gibbs asked. 

“I was just leaving. And Tim was coming with me.” He locked his screen, not trusting the stranger in the office, and stood. Tim followed his lead immediately, not questioning the sudden plans, and grabbed his tablet to shove in his go bag. 

“You take that evidence down to Abby, McGee?” Gibbs asked. 

“Of course,” Tim answered. “As soon as we got back.”

“Forget something?” Gibbs held a small evidence bag in his hand. 

“Sorry, Boss. I didn’t realize - I’ll take it down right away,” Tim said, abruptly remembering rule six and interrupting himself. He quickly took the evidence bag, signed it, then headed for the elevator. 

“Something I can do for you?” Gibbs asked when Phil stood there, smiling and waiting.

“I’m here about the Barton case. Clint, if you could join us?”

Clint dropped down from the railing and landed on his socked feet, the aircast in one hand with his other shoe tied to it. “I thought you couldn’t hear?” Gibbs asked, frowning.

“I didn’t need to,” Clint said. “I read his lips.”

“I imagine that cast is not meant to be a fashion accessory,” Coulson said. “Doctor Mallard was specific that you should be wearing it at least a week.”

The blonde shrugged. “It’s clunky and it itches.”

“Oh really? It itches. Be sure to tell him that when he asks why you aren’t wearing it at your checkup,” Coulson snarked.

The archer froze. “Since when do I have a checkup?”

“Since Fury discovered Doctor Mallard actually got you to sit still long enough to take your temperature,” Phil countered simply.

“Do I gotta?” Clint’s lips turned down in a pout, and Gibb could detect a definite whine in his tone. That was definitely the kind of character who would wear cartoon shirts, halfway to still being a child.

“You’re the one living with Steve Rogers,” Phil pointed out. “Do you really want to face the scolding he’ll give you if you skip?”

“You have a point,” Clint said. “I don’t like it, but you have one.”

“Now that we’ve settled that, I think it’s best we move to a more private location. Your usual office?” Phil asked Gibbs, motioning towards the back elevator.

The NCIS agent took a sip of his coffee and waited a beat, wondering if the way these two clowns interacted was normal for the SHIELD agency or if he was just lucky enough to get the responsible brother handling the jokester. His coffee was cold from sitting out on his desk, and he couldn’t help but make a face at it. First the meeting with Jenny and now this; the case was getting more politically complicated than he was prepared to deal with.

Then again, they might be willing to reveal details that could help solve things. “You do realize that we have someone who confessed,” he drawled out. “Looks like the case might be over soon.”

“Is that why you went to the house to collect more evidence?” Phil asked. “Because the case was almost over?”

“Didn’t know we had someone confessing at the time.”

“True,” Coulson said, accepting the statement. “Doesn’t explain why you’re still processing new evidence.”

Gibbs shrugged. “You never know what might turn up,” he said. “Or fall from the sky, apparently.”

“He didn’t do it,” Clint said. “I can’t tell you more out here, but he didn’t do it.”

“I know,” Gibbs said.

“He - you know?” the blonde asked, green-blue eyes startled.

“Yep.”

“How?”

“Same way you did, I imagine,” Gibbs said, setting his coffee down on his desk. “Observing.” He waited for a moment, staring down the two agents who didn’t belong in NCIS. “So the question is: are you going to tell me something to help me solve this case, or are you going to waste my time?”

The two agents looked at each other, Clint slumping a bit more than his handler, and it was Phil that answered: “I don’t know if it will help, but it definitely won’t be a waste.”

Gibbs let the sounds of the squadroom wash over him for a moment as he assessed the benefits of being alone and trapped with two unknowns, then decided it was an acceptable risk. “Yeah. Yeah, fine.” He pushed off from the desk and made his way to the back elevator, keeping quiet as he pushed the button to call it and then ushering the pair in first. 

Clint seemed mildly surprised when Phil flipped the switch to stop the elevator, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then to the door in a quick assessment of the exits as his hand tightened briefly on that silly baton he was still carrying around.

“I’m guessing you wanted private for a reason?” Gibbs asked.

“The man you have in custody did not kill Laura Barton,” Phil said.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve already established that,” Gibbs said shortly.

“What I’m guessing you don’t know is who he is. We’re running that now, and will get back to you. We suspect he might be a Hydra agent attempting to infiltrate NCIS to get data on the case, or - well, we’ll leave the ‘or’ for after it’s looked into. The most likely possibility is Hydra, or someone just looking to take advantage. While we’re waiting for that, I thought it might be beneficial for you to hear Hawkeye’s full report. I’m officially here for his debrief, and you’ve been cleared to hear it. If you’d rather not, we can conduct our business on the quinjet.”

“Does the debrief include his discovery of the crime scene?” Gibbs asked practically.

“I plan to cover that as well, yes,” Phil said.

“Then I’ll stay.”

“Good. I’ll need you to sign these,” the handler said as he pulled a few sheets of paper from his suit jacket. “Standard non-disclosure agreement,” he explained.

While they were talking Clint had leaned back into the corner. It looked at first glance like he was taking some of the weight off his feet, but his shoulders and the thick muscles in his arms were too tight to pass as casual. The older agent had to wonder whose bright idea it was to stick a sniper-archer with potential PTSD and a weapon inside a box.

He recognized the non disclosure form as standard; he’d signed enough over the years to know what to look for and what it should say in the right places. “Doesn’t my current form apply?” he asked.

“Yes, so you can consider this merely a formality. A reminder that SHIELD works outside standard channels sometimes causes people to - forget - their agreements apply. We like to cover our bases.”

“You mean your asses,” Gibbs snorted, putting the form against the wall of the elevator and signing it with the pen Barton helpfully provided.

“Now then, to business,” Phil said. “Report everything after the conclusion of your last mission. I have the debrief from that in my office, and I  _ will  _ be speaking to Agent Yates.”

Clint nodded, relieved. That mission had been a disaster - though thankfully not a lethal one for anyone involved - and someone needed to catch hell for the cluster. “I left the base and returned immediately to Homestead. It was a few hours drive, but there wasn’t any traffic. Given how late it was, I didn’t expect any. I pulled in the driveway at 2157, and found the house a mess. It wasn’t quite an explosion or a burning, perhaps some new technology? I didn’t stop to inspect, just went room to room to see if Laura and the kids were there, or anyone else.”

“I thought your house blew up,” Gibbs said. “How could you search room to room if it wasn’t even standing?”

“There was enough standing to provide cover,” Clint frowned, rubbing at his temple. “And not all the rooms were above ground. The destruction to those areas didn’t come until later.”

“How?” Gibbs demanded.

“Look, it’s not that important yet,” Phil cut in. “He’ll get there when he gets there. Trust me, Clint sees enough that after action reports can take hours if we ask for all the details out of order.”

“I’m not asking for all the details. I’m asking why the hell I wasn’t told the house was intact - even if only partially! - when he first arrived on scene. Details like that are important to an investigation!”

“Details like that can compromise an agent,” Coulson countered. “Until you were cleared all he could give you was the result. Even  _ that _ should have been reported to SHIELD and not the local leos.”

Clint was tempted for a moment to pin that one on Stark, but held his tongue. “I wanted her buried proper,” he said. “Look, do you want me to get it all out or not? Because I’m more than willing to go back to watching the squad floor. One of the agents really needs to check his sugar soon, and there was a girl about to beat a tricky level in Angry Birds.”

“What do birds have to do with anything?” Gibbs asked. “It’s like you’re obsessed.”

“It’s a game?” Clint answered, though it came out sounding like more of a question. “You know, one of those you play on your phone?”

Gibbs frowned. “Why would it do that?”

“He doesn’t get data and text,” Phil said. “Talk only.”

“Wow. That’s, like, worse than Steve. Better than Lawson.”

“You really think he’s better than Lawson?” Phil countered.

“Lawson shot himself in the ass,” Clint pointed out. “By accident.”

“He shoots a pretty darn good video, though.”

“Ok, better than you then,” Clint admitted, rolling his eyes at his handler. “No offense.”

“How is that not offensive? You just said I’m worse than Captain America. Don’t get me wrong, the man’s great, but he’s no tech geek. The most Stark’s managed to get through to Steve is that it works on electricity.”

“He’s not wrong,” Gibbs cut in. “Now if you two don’t mind, I need quiet. I’ve got a phone call to make. I’ve got a feeling this is going to take a while and we don’t need building services swarming in on us.” He pulled out an old flip phone, pushed a button, then put it up to his ear.

Clint hissed out: “At least Steve figured out the email app!”

“Yeah, I need the out of order sign put up,” Gibbs said as he jabbed a finger at Clint to warn him to stay silent for a moment. “No, I don’t know how long. Well I don’t know, ask DiNozzo. A little bird’s about to squawk, I can say that much.” He closed his phone and leaned back against the wall, noticing Clint still stood in socked feet without the brace Ducky had insisted on. “Have a seat,” he said, motioning to the floor. “We’ve got a few hours. Tell me why I shouldn’t have you arrested.”

* * *

“Am I doing this right? I’m not sure I’m doing this right. Maybe you should take him,” Tony said, inching closer to Steve.

“You’re just holding him until he falls asleep,” Steve said gently. “Sway – like you’re dancing with your girl.”

“If you think that’s safe for an infant, you’re doing it wrong,” Tony said, watching the blonde to make sure he didn’t make any strange, sudden moves.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh my god, you actually don’t know how to dance. You’re one of those people who just stands on the sidelines holding a woman and calling it dancing, aren’t you?”

“If you’re agitated, Nate’s never going to fall asleep,” Steve commented.

“It’s your fault. Dancing, really.” Tony huffed and turned his back on the American hero. “That’s a total – I don’t even know what that is. My mind can’t comprehend it. Captain America broke my  _ brain _ . That’s, like, a global tragedy.”

“Why don’t you take him to his room and sing to him then?”

“Sing?”

“Yes, sing.”

“I don’t sing.”

“It’s not broadway, and no one else is going to listen. Babies just need to hear the sound of your voice, soft and safe. That’s why lullabies work.”

“Who told you that jibberish?”

“My ma.”

“Oh,” Tony said, instantly contrite. “Sorry.”

“Just go put the baby to bed,” Steve sighed. “Cooper, do you want to help me with the dishes?”

“I want juice,” Lila piped up, looking up from where she was coloring in Cinderella, her pigtails bouncing she moved so fast. “I can get it!”

“Just one juicebox,” Steve said. “You have to finish it before you get another.”

“Ok,” the little girl immediately agreed while Tony left.

The engineer wasn’t even sure he  _ knew _ any songs to sing to the baby, and he wasn’t about to wobble his way through them with an audience. Lacking better options, he started humming  _ Little Red Riding Hood _ . He was pretty sure that was a children’s story before it was a song.

Little Nate seemed to have no opinion either way, yawning and shoving a fist in his mouth as his eyes drifted shut. It took Tony five minutes just to figure out how to lay the baby down without dropping him, during which he decided that he definitely needed Pepper to come help. He could barely manage one, and there were three of the little munchkins. It was going to take more than just him, Bruce, and Steve. How Laura managed on her own he wasn’t sure.

Quietly closing the door behind him, Tony walked back to the living room. “JARVIS, tell us when he wakes up?” Tony asked.

“Of course, sir. And might I point out, Lila appears to be in distress. Her breathing is labored.”

Tony spotted her lying on the floor next to the coffee table, huddled as if cold. “What happened?” he nearly shouted, hitting his knees hard as he practically fell next to her and barely feeling it.

“What?” Steve asked, still in the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“JARVIS?” Tony shouted, picking the small girl up and running to the elevator. He would have preferred his suit, but there wasn’t a way to take her in it, even if it did have all he needed for a complete medical scan. No, he’d have to take her down to the med floor, and bless JARVIS for understanding and calling the elevator. “Stay with Nate and Cooper,” Tony snapped at Steve just before the elevator doors slid closed.

* * *

Clint hesitated, uncertain if he should sit when everyone else was standing and would tower over him. His ankle really was aching a bit, though, and standing for the whole debrief was going to be uncomfortable. Gibbs was going to get angry. Was it better to start on the floor, or just end up there?

“Should I call for Mister Stark?” JARVIS whispered in his ear. “I still have access to the building’s internet. I could get a signal out.” There was a pause as Clint couldn’t figure out how to answer JARVIS without letting the others know there was a fourth person listening in. Phil was going to be the one getting angry over protocol if he heard about that. “Should you need to be discrete,” the AI added after a moment, “cough for yes and scratch your ear for no.”

Clint sighed, sat down, and scratched at the hearing aid, grateful JARVIS had realized what he needed. “I ain’t breaking my neck ta talk to ya. You sit, too,” he said, tapping Gibbs ankle with a socked foot as his accent slipped. He took a deep breath as the other agents settled on the floor, organizing his thoughts and deciding what to say and how. Once they were all on the floor, he started: “Honestly, if I wasn’t an agent you should be arresting me. But if I wasn’t an agent it wouldn’t have happened. In the end, I followed protocol as best I could.”

“There might be some debate about that,” Coulson chided. “You might want to reconsider how you tell Fury.”

Clint scowled. “Fury can kiss my ass. I’m - I’m done, Phil. Finished. I can’t anymore.”

“I can arrange for some leave-”

“No,” Clint interrupted, still slightly irritated that Phil had shown up at all. This wasn’t a mission; this was personal. But the debriefing did need to happen and Clint wasn’t going to go to SHIELD. It made sense that SHIELD came to him instead. Which meant the archer wasn’t angry about it, just irritated. “I mean I’m done. I’m retiring. As soon as Laura’s case is closed. I’ve got kids, Phil. I can’t leave them alone. Without Laura, I’m all they’ve got.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” the handler said, glancing at Gibbs. Clint knew that meant Phil was going to try and sweet talk him back, maybe try to get him to take a desk job or train recruits for a time until another emergency pulled at Clint’s moral code. Phil was good at getting people exactly where he wanted them, and he didn’t let valuable assets go to waste. “You said homestead had been breached. Continue.”

“I went room by room and checked, but there wasn’t anyone there - not even any bodies. The second story was gone, and the first was barely still there. I checked the panic room next. Cooper, Lily, and Nathan were there. They were upset and shaken, but unharmed. Cooper had managed to get Nathan his nighttime bottle, and the panic room had enough supplies to last for two days. After ensuring they didn’t need me to stay, I had them lock themselves back in the room and began tracking for Laura.” Clint hesitated, sure someone would say something about leaving his children alone, but the elevator remained silent on the matter.

He shifted uncomfortably, and continued. “From the looks of the footprints I found outside the house, Laura was alive when they took her. The house was then destroyed remotely, and they didn’t stick around to see if they’d done their job correctly. I’m guessing they rigged a few appliances to fail, and when those went off some of the protocol devices were triggered. Luckily the ones on the first floor and the basement weren’t heat-sensitive, otherwise the panic room would have collapsed.

“The intruders weren’t going very far, since there were footprints but no signs of vehicles, so I followed the trail. Not far from the farm is an abandoned factory - which sounds more high-tech than it is. It was a glass factory or something, I think. Maybe pottery or plates? It had huge walk-in furnaces, but most of the gears and usable items were carted off years ago. I looted some of it myself.

“The team had set up there. I found Laura first. She wasn’t alive. I returned the favor to her captors.

“I tried to use a sonic arrow in the encounter-”

“Wait,” Gibbs interrupted. “You ‘returned the favor’? The hell does that mean?”

“SHIELD code,” Phil said. “It means he made sure none were left alive.”

Clint shrugged with the explanation, too used to saying it to really question using it. “I killed them,” he said simply. He looked up and straight into the older man’s eyes. “Doesn’t solve the problem, but I s’pose I sleep better for it.”

“Because  _ that’s _ what determines if a man lives or dies - if Clint Barton sleeps better!” Gibbs growled, standing. “Where are the bodies?”

“I-”

“ _ Where _ ?”

“Gone,” Clint said. “Per protocol I destroyed the evidence. You can search the factory, but you won’t find them.”

“I beginning to think your  _ protocol _ is a bunch of bull.”

“Sir?” JARVIS whispered in his ear again. “Voices are raised. I have alerted Mister Stark of a non-urgent incident. Should you need urgent assistance and require discretion in alerting me, please ask to leave the elevator and I will inform Mister Stark immediately.”

“You do realize that you just made yourself the primary suspect?” Gibbs asked, his voice running together with JARVIS’ and making the small space seem even more crowded. He towered over Clint, looking down at him with an angry glare. “Taking out the actual murderers and destroying their bodies makes you look guilty.”

“I don’t believe you have much room to talk,” Phil cut in. “I would have thought you would be more sympathetic, given your history.”

“That was a different situation.”

“In many ways, it was,” Phil agreed. “Now sit back down and listen before I start outlining the many ways it was  _ not _ .”

Gibbs crossed his arms and leaned against the doors of the elevator, refusing to budge.

“There’s not much more to tell, anyways,” Clint said before his handler could prove why they’d brought him back from the dead. “I killed them, destroyed the bodies, then returned to Homestead. I got the kids, released the horses, and packed the children into the hidden car. It already had the emergency supplies.”

“So the first floor of the house was intact when you left?” Gibbs asked. 

“Not entirely, but somewhat. First floor, basement, and porch.” He closed his eyes and let his head thunk back against the metal wall. “Then I followed protocol.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“The location was compromised,” Phil explained. “Once he and the children were clear, he would have activated the self-destruct. It would have filled in the basement, the panic room, and collapsed the porch. First floor burned down to the cement slab.”

“Houses with cement slabs don’t have basements,” Gibbs pointed out.

“They do if the basement wasn’t under the house,” Clint pointed out quietly. “Laura called it a bunker.”

Gibbs scowled again, though his anger didn’t seem to be directed entirely at Clint for the moment. “So why do all the reports say the house was destroyed before you got there?” he asked. “And what  _ moron _ decided it was good protocol to blow up an active crime scene before investigators arrive?”

“The first was probably my fault,” Clint admitted. “The sonic arrow I used - think flashbang without the flash -” he explained before Gibbs could ask “- reacted badly with my hearing aids. They must have been damaged in the mission, because when it went off it felt like they exploded in my ears. I wasn’t 100% after that, so when I arrived at Stark Tower I was less than clear in explaining the situation. Tony must have thought the house was completely destroyed when I first arrived. Or maybe that’s what I told him, I’m not sure.”

“Symptoms?” Phil asked.

“Vertigo,” Clint answered, listing off how he’d felt when entering the tower and seeing Tony for the first time since the alien invasion. “Ringing in the ears. Complete hearing loss, except for the ringing. Some numbness, but the mission hadn’t been stellar either. Bruises and cuts, the usual.”

“Who’s hearing aids are you wearing now?” Phil pressed. “You didn’t requisition new ones.”

Clint looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Where do you think I got them, Walmart? Stark made them.”

“I don’t get it,” Gibbs cut in. “If you already murdered the culprits, what are you hoping to get out of this?”

Clint reached in his vest and brought out a crumpled sheaf of papers. Bills, ads, and junk mail spread out on the floor. And in the white spaces on the page were distinct black smudges. “I may not have followed protocol  _ exactly _ ,” he admitted with a wince. “I was hoping you would find something and I could just get rid of this, but… I fingerprinted each one of them before I got rid of the bodies. I want to know who they work for, and I want to know-” he stopped, looked at Phil carefully before continuing. “Homestead was a top secret location, and not very many people know I’m Hawkeye. It could be a coincidence, but I want to know if SHIELD is compromised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Hopefully everything posts okay, since I’m doing this from my phone for the first time. A little shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out for the holidays. 😀


	6. Rising Threat

Tony waved away the nurse when she brought him a cup of coffee, too intent on the little girl in the great big bed. Lila was resting now, her arms wrapped tight around her bunny and large headphones on to block out the steady beeping of hospital equipment. She’d thrown a fit when she first woke up, desperate for Clint, but her father was unavailable. It had taken ten minutes and a promise of ice cream for her to calm down to the quiet sniffling she was now doing as she listened to soft lullabies of unicorns and Winnie the Pooh.

She’d had an allergic reaction. If he’d been any longer putting the baby to bed, and if Steve also hadn’t noticed, the doctors would be saying different things right now. 

It wouldn’t have happened. JARVIS would have told Steve before it was too late. 

Tony wholeheartedly believed that; so why was it his skin felt too tight, his chin weighted and his throat aching? He had to remind himself to breathe because for a few moments he couldn’t remember where he was. It felt like he was drowning without water, his face twisting in ways he didn’t recognize-

“Tony?” 

Pepper. His refuge. He leaned against her, sagging. “I almost killed her,” he said. 

“You did not,” the redhead scoffed even as her arms wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. “She had a reaction and you got her help. That’s all anyone could have done.” 

Tony sniffed, shifting slightly and wondering why he was always shorter than everyone. “I haven’t told Clint yet.”

“Why not?”

“JARVIS said something was going down -yelling - and he wasn’t even available for Lila to talk to. I might actually need to go save him.”

Pepper snorted. “I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“I meant with lawyers,” Tony said. “Pretty sure he could kill every last one of the agents, but yelling at NCIS probably needs lawyers.”

“I’ll look into finding one,” Pepper said, leaning back so she could pull her phone out and tap away at the screen. “One that passes both our standards and SHIELD’s. Did the doctor say what she’s allergic to?”

“He didn’t say,” the brunette hedged. 

“Tony…” Pepper warned. She wasn’t looking at the phone anymore, and Tony wished she was.

“He didn’t say,” Tony repeated, emphasizing the point briefly before admitting: “But I saw mold listed on her chart. Looks like she’ll have to avoid blue cheese.”

“You hate blue cheese.”

“I know. I’m not disappointed.”

“What’s really wrong?” Pepper asked. “You turned down  _ coffee _ , I know it’s not about cheese.”

Tony closed his eyes - a mistake, because behind them was the vastness of space and more aliens than anyone had ever imagined - and opened them again to see Lila. “She almost died. I never - I knew I wasn’t going to be a great parent. You know I don’t exactly live a normal life, and what kid wants Ironman to be their parent? Only the stupid ones, and I could never have a stupid kid. But I always thought,” his breath hitched for a moment, “I always  _ assumed _ I’d be better at it than my own father. It wouldn’t take much; all I’d need to do is not get drunk and die, right?” Not killing the kid had been an assumption so basic it hadn’t even registered as necessary.

“It’s not a competition, Tony - no, look at me,” Pepper insisted, gripping Tony’s chin gently and looking him in the eye. “Competition implies rules and guidelines in place, and an even playing field. Parenting isn’t like that. Each situation is different. Good parents aren’t the ones where nothing bad ever happens; good parents are the ones who see the shit and deal with it.”

Tony blinked. “You cussed.”

“Tony…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss - well, most times. A few warranted occasions, yes, but you’re so very professional all the time.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Pepper said flatly. 

“I want to have a threesome with Clint.”

Pepper sighed. “Of course you do.” And of course Tony was changing the subject; he was so uncomfortable with the thought of parenting that Pepper handled all the women who showed up claiming Tony as the father of their child. The lab had a sample on file; none of the tests were positive. He was typically very careful, and after the Ten Rings the opportunity was rare. It took six months for Tony to admit the doctors had recommended he abstain until his body had adapted to the reactor in his chest.

“Really, those arms? It could be hot,” Tony continued with an eyebrow wiggle. His mind wasn’t as completely on sex as his words implied; it was, however, a much safer subject. 

“Soulmates aren’t just for kinky sex, you know.”

“So we’re allowed to be kinky?” The expected bounce of excitement kept him moving; he didn’t even think about it.

“Be serious,” Pepper scolded. “A soulmate connection is deeper than that.”

“Science hasn’t proven that yet,” Tony contradicted. He gave her the Cliff Notes version of what he had found in credible journals: the tattoos were identifiable, and the result of a protein found in the skin which actually changed the pigment. They were blemishes, like freckles and beauty marks, and the unique way they formed shapes and came in pairs was because of the DNA of the protein. “Basically when Clint and I touched the protein responded. Little baby parasites that turn a part of our skin a weird color infected us,” Tony said. “Science hasn’t found a way to connect it to a person’s DNA or make up. It could be a disease.”

“Science also can’t identify a soul,” Pepper cut back smartly. “And before you say anything, I know enough about science to know it’s nearly impossible to prove a negative. Science can’t say souls aren’t real - only that they are unable to measure it.”

Tony frowned. “It’s not science; it’s magic. I  _ hate _ magic. That stick of destiny proves what a bad idea magic is. It’s basically the worst idea ever. I should build Lila a robot.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. Tony was hopping from subject to subject like a kid on a sugar high. “Why are you doing that?”

“So it can watch her and give her allergy shots and make a racket when she’s in trouble.”

“You mean do all the things you’re doing?” Pepper asked.

“All the things I’m not doing, you mean.” 

There was a pause as the redhead tried to gather her thoughts. “If you weren’t watching her, how did she get down to the infirmary?”

“Steve was watching her,” Tony said. “And not very well, since he didn’t even notice she wasn’t breathing normally. JARVIS had to tell me, so of course I brought her down here.”

“And according to the nurses and doctors you blasted in here like a madman demanding only the best doctors. You even flew in Lila’s normal doctor so someone familiar with her could look her over.”

“That’s just normal,” Tony said, waving off her comments. He knew his sense of ‘normal’ was a bit skewed from everyone else’s, yet knowing that and realizing it were two different things. 

Pepper helped sometimes, when Tony was too stubborn or too blind to see what was obvious to others. “Do you remember when I put your first arc reactor in a display that read ‘proof that Tony Stark has a heart’?” 

“How can I forget?” the brunette asked, brow furrowed. “I had to scramble for it the night I almost died.”

“I used to think that no one could see all the good you did so no one could see you were actually human under all those tabloid stories. I made the display for you to show it off, but you didn’t. I think you didn’t want anyone to know you cared. I think the kids will be good for you because you won’t need to show them. They just know. She knows a robot, however cool, is still no replacement for you.” 

Golden brown eyes were filled with confusion. “I don’t get it.” Robots were better than people, surely? More reliable, and they didn’t betray you.

“I know,” Pepper said. Sadly, she did. Tony’s best friends were machines; he was just now regaining trust in people. “Maybe someday you will. I blame your father for that. If he’d been a little bit more concerned with his son and a little less concerned with being made of iron you might have built better people skills.” She also blamed Obadiah Stane and Tiberius Stone, but those were two names you did not mention to Tony Stark if you wanted to sleep any time in the next week.

“My people skills are great,” Tony protested, bringing Pepper back to the conversation.

“So modest, too.”

“No really, they’re great. I’m good with people.”

“Fine,” Pepper said. “Better person skills. How’s that?”

“Do bedroom skills count?”

Pepper smacked his arm. 

* * *

 

“Tell me we’ve got something, Abs,” Gibbs said as he walked into the forensics lab.

Abby blamed her dry eyes, rubbing at the bruises forming under tired orbs. “Not yet. I’ve been staring at screens for hours and none of my babies are giving me anything. Not even the fingerprints you gave me have had a hit yet.”

Suddenly one of the computers dinged and started flashing information on the screen. “Gibbs! How did you know I had information before I did?” 

“What is it?”

“Well, the papers you gave me had more than just the ghost fingerprints on them. I eliminated Laura’s quickly and thought maybe I could get something useful from the rest. Looks like this is one of the extra ones.”

“Who’s is it?” Gibbs asked, squinting at the screen. 

Abby pulled up the report. “The hit is from a missing child report filed three weeks ago,” Abby said. “But it’s for Clint Barton.” 

“Clint Barton isn’t a child,” Gibbs said.  

“According to the report he’s 12,” Abby said. “I could compare it to Barton’s, if you let me. See if it’s a match.”

“It is,” Gibbs announced. “Someone’s trying to play with us. Who filed the report?”

“Someone named Barney,” Abby said. “Looks like some sort of brother. I thought Clint didn’t have any siblings.”

“He used to. According to Barton, his brother is dead. Can you trace this?”

“You mean the record? It’s from the police department just like all the missing persons files are. This one was filed in Iowa. Hey isn’t that -“

“Where our clown is from? Yes, it is.” 

“Maybe it’s a coincidence?” Abby hedged, knowing Gibbs didn’t believe in such things. “Clint isn’t 12, there’s no way this is his print right?”

“Make sure he stays with you or Ducky,” Gibbs said, “and have an agent with you too, if they’re free. I need to check up on a few things.”

“I can set him and Dorney up with some video games,” Abby said. “Should keep him distracted.”

* * *

Clint swung his legs, letting them bounce against the side of Tim’s desk. “Brandt,” Tony said, snapping his fingers as he looked up from his monitor. “I knew it.”

Both Clint and Tim looked at the senior agent blankly. “What are you going on about?” Ziva asked crossly as she slid her badge and gun into her drawer.

“William Brandt. Mission Impossible movies. I knew I knew your face. Is he your twin or something?” Tony asked.

Clint cocked his head to the side for a moment, thinking or observing; it was hard to tell. Finally he said: “I can neither confirm nor deny the details of any operation without the secretary’s approval.”

“Ha!” Tony barked. “You see, he knows exactly what I’m talking about!” He grinned widely. “So is it a twin or just someone who looks a lot like you?”

“I’m pretty sure I already answered your question,” Clint said with a smirk.

“Wait, really?”

“Stop playing around, DiNozzo,” Gibbs scolded as he came around the corner. “We aren’t holding you, Barton. If you’re sticking around, go downstairs.” 

Barton shrugged. “If I go anywhere I’d have to head back to New York or sleep in the jet. I could do that.” He added after only a slight hesitation. 

“Doesn’t sound very comfortable,” Tim commented. He frowned as his his phone rang.

Clint shrugged. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Why don’t you try downstairs first?” Gibbs asked. “I hear the lab is somewhat comfortable.”

“Uh - boss? I have someone on the line for Mr. Barton,” Tim said. His eyes darted between the archer and his boss, confused why anyone would call a SHIELD agent on his landline. 

“Track it,” Gibbs mouthed as he took the phone. He pushed the speaker phone button as Clint whispered to JARVIS to record. “Who is this?” Gibbs demanded. 

“You are not Clint Barton,” a distorted voice crackled through the phone. “Put my hawk on the line.”

“You called my agent, I think I deserve some answers,” Gibbs pushed back. “And what is with the bird references?”

“Have you ever seen a hawk hunt, Mr. Gibbs?” the voice asked. “It’s a thing of beauty to see a bird you’ve trained take out the vermin on your command. To see them rip other birds apart, swoop in to snatch a target as small as a mouse from two, three hundred yards away.”

“This isn’t a zoo,” Gibbs snapped.

“Put Barton on the line or you’ll find out just what kind of zoo you work in.”

The squad room was silent, the call having caught the attention of all the teams. Tim was working furiously to trace the call; his screen showed a line bouncing all over the globe, but never settling in one place. Gibbs stared into confused blue eyes for a moment. The hard set of Clint’s jaw and the sharp downturn of his lips were clear signs of displeasure. Gibbs grabbed a piece of paper, scrawled STALL on it, and showed it to Clint as he said: “I don’t take well to threats. Give me your name and I’ll put you on speaker phone.”

The voice chuckled. “If I wasn’t willing to speak publicly I would have called his cell. You can call me the Ringmaster.”

“That’s not a name.”

“It’s the only one you’ll find.”

Gibbs waited a moment, then nodded to Clint. He looked up sharply when there wasn’t an answer; the archer had gone as white as a sheet, and his face looked as if he were trying not to be ill again. 

“Agent Barton,” Gibbs said to cover the silence. “The Ringmaster is on the line for you.” The sarcasm at the name was hard to miss.

Clint swallowed, took a deep breath, and answered. “I was assured the Ringmaster was gone. You’ll have to try again.” Despite the uncertain way he looked, Clint’s voice was steady and cocky. Tim actually looked away from his screen for a moment to be certain the blonde hadn’t stopped looking like a ghost.

The voice responded by making a tsking sound like one would make when reprimanding a small child. “So doubtful, little one. Do you trust the ones who stole you so much more than the ones who raised you?”

“If you knew who raised me that wouldn’t even be a question.”

“My poor baby boy. It’s time to come home. You don’t need to worry; we’ve removed the bad snake that drove you away.”

Color had returned to Clint by this point, and his breathing had returned to normal to match the tone he was speaking. “I’m never going back.”

“Even when you have nothing left to stay for?”

“I have plenty to stay for.”

“You won’t much longer. We missed the rugrats the first time around, but maybe that’s a good thing. It gives me an opportunity to show you just how serious I am. We’ve missed you, Cupid. We’re willing to forgive what those bastards made you do.”

“What do you mean - opportunity?” Clint asked, voice hard as his head shot up and looked around. His eyes locked with Tony and he snarled silently. Then he saw Gibbs again and signed quickly. Clint’s hands were almost too fast to read, but Gibbs was moving as if he understood perfectly; Clint relaxed at the reassurance that SHIELD would be notified.

“You know where to find us,” the voice crackled, and Clint hoped he hadn’t been so distracted that he’d missed something while signalling to the NCIS agent. Static was starting to add to the distortion of the voice modifier and Clint wasn’t sure what that meant. A quick look at Tim’s screen showed that the man already had a location on the call; Gibbs, DiNozzo and DaVid were on their way out the door, but the archer already knew it was wrong.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Clint said into the silence. “What do you mean by opportunity? What have you done?”

“You may want to check in with your babysitters,” said the Ringmaster, and then the line went dead.

Tim terminated the call. “We were able to trace the-”

“It’s a dead end,” Clint interrupted. “Which is a damn shame. I want this over.” His whole body was tense. “Ringmaster was never this smart.”

“I don’t understand,” Director Sheppard said, and how bad was it that Clint hadn’t realized she was so close? He’d seen her come out of her office, take the stairs down to the bullpen floor, but now she was right beside him. “Who is the Ringmaster?”

“That is a long story,” Clint started, taking a steadying breath as he straightened his shoulders. “But, to make it short, it’s more of a title than a name. For a time, my brother and I were caught up in the circus. The Ringmaster was just that: a part of the circus life. Ours was - not particularly kind. He was the reason my brother was killed. I ran from them that night, straight to SHIELD. They made sure the Ringmaster was taken care of, or so I was told.”

“But it’s a title, not a name,” the Director said softly.

Tim picked up the thought next: “When one falls, another takes his place.” Clint jerked, the line very close to the Hydra motto the grunts loved to spout, but Tim had already moved on. “Apparently the new guy knows you.”

“He must have been there,” Clint agreed. “I’m sorry - but I have to make a call. My kids-” he cut himself off.

“We understand,” Director Shepard said. “You can have some privacy in my office. Matthews? Will you show Agent Barton up? McGee - join me in MTAC.”

* * *

Once in the privacy of the Director’s office - no one would dare bug the office, right? - Clint didn’t even bother pretending with a phone. “JARVIS, I need to speak to Stark. Now.”

“One moment, please. He is engaged with Miss Potts and did not notice the call. I am attempting again.”

Finally - finally! - Clint heard a “Barton called?”

“Stark. Everything okay there?”

“It is now,” the other man grumbled. “You could have warned us, Legolas.”

“Warned you about what?” There was a sinking feeling in his gut that Clint didn’t think was indigestion. 

“That Lila has allergies! She had a reaction and nearly gave me heart failure. I have a weak heart; it can’t take shocks like that.”

“She’s okay now?” Clint asked - demanded. “Let me talk to her.”

“She’s sleeping right now,” a female voice said as Stark grumbled a  _ I’m fine, thanks for asking _ . It took Clint a moment to place it as Miss Potts, Tony Stark’s fiancee. “As soon as she wakes up, why don’t we set up a video call? I’m sure she’d love to see her daddy.”

Clint closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. If Pepper was willing to video call then his baby girl couldn’t be too bad off, right? “I’ll see what I can arrange,” Clint said.

“JARVIS said there was yelling earlier - do I need to send lawyers? Because my lawyers can totally rip those agents to shreds,” Tony cut in. “Just saying.” He sounded petulant at the last, and Clint guessed Miss Potts had somehow scolded him.

“Not yet, but whoever was behind Laura’s death threatened the kids,” Clint said. “I asked JARVIS to record it - can he send it to both the agents and you?”

“Of course,” Tony said just before the AI cut in to tell them it was complete.

“Thanks. I need you to keep my family safe, Stark. Top priority,” Clint emphasized. “No hiding in your lab for hours and forgetting what day it is. No junky take out for every meal. No HYDRA agents or assassins or terrorists or aliens getting to them without first getting through you and that sea of armor you have.”

“...but I was going to build her a robot,” was Tony’s protest. He sounded confused. “She needs one for allergies.”

“You can explain that to me later, when I don’t have a federal agency on the other side of the door.”

“I can make them suits?” Tony offered. 

Which, really, what? “You don’t have to build them anything.”

“We’ll increase security, including at the school,” Potts slid in as Tony frowned loud enough to be heard over the line. “We were already planning on staying with Lila tonight. You are still okay with them going to school tomorrow?”

“If the doctor’s say it’s okay and you’re sure it’s secure,” Clint agreed. 

* * *

“Everything okay?” Tim asked as Clint was escorted into MTAC. He’d had to show the techie his hearing aids, and when they hadn’t triggered any alarms Clint assumed JARVIS wasn’t picking up any Wi-Fi. 

Clint gave a single sharp nod in answer to the question. “Lila had a severe allergic reaction to something, but Stark got her down to medical in time. What’s this place?”

“Where we monitor and command large scale operations,” the director said. The explanation seemed way to simple for the rows of monitors and screens; Clint refrained from saying it was unimpressive compared to the helicarrier. “Since you thought the trace was a dead end I thought McGee might have some better results with the resources in here. It’s also a bit more comfortable,” she said in a stage whisper. 

“I see,” Clint said slowly.

“We’ll head back downstairs soon enough, but since we are in a secure room I had a few questions I thought you might be able to answer for me,” the director added, motioning to the theater-style chairs in the room. 

Clint took the offered seat next to her, which put the largest monitor directly in front of them. “I’ll answer what I can, ma’am.”

“What do you make of this?”

The flyer went up on the screen showing  _ the Amazing Hawkeye _ , a cartoonish figure with a purple mask taking up half the wall. “It’s an ad,” Clint said, using the more mainstream term. “Posters like this would go out a week or two before the acts came through. This could have been one of mine.”

“Could have?”

“We never really got to see them before they were distributed. Barney and I didn’t, anyways. Since we weren’t born to the crew we weren’t as trusted. Well enough, but families tend not to trust the adopted children as much as they do their own blood.”

“Interesting you should say that,” Jenny said, clicking over to the next screen. It was a picture of Laura decked out in black cargo pants, her shirt so dark a purple it was almost black, with a hunting bow in her hand a quiver hanging from one hip. “Archery run in the family?”

Clint was smiling, and he laughed at that. “Hell no. She dressed up as me for Halloween one year. Even got the black warpaint on after we took this picture. Laura couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a bow. She could shoot a gun as good as anyone, but a bow? She’d be better off stabbing someone with the arrows.”

“What was her relationship with your work?”

Clint paused. “Why do you need to know?”

“We’re - exploring all avenues for her murder,” the director said slowly. “We have a man who confessed downstairs, and a highly trained assassin as her husband. Surely if she had any enemies you would know. Perhaps even better than she did.”  _ Yet you haven’t said who _ was the unspoken undercurrent.

“If Laura had enemies I didn’t know about them,” Clint said. “As far as I know she got along with everyone she met with. I wasn’t so paranoid as to keep tabs on her all the time. And if she worked with SHIELD, you would need to ask Director Fury for that information. All SHIELD files are classified.”

“So you’re saying she does have a file to be classified,” Jenny rephrased.

“She’s my wife,” Clint said flatly. “Of course she had a file. My kids probably do too. I did my best to keep them off the grid, but Fury is the king of secrets. He has a file on everything.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll be speaking to him again soon,” the director said, standing. “McGee, why don’t you show Agent Barton down to the lab? I believe Abby has a question for him.”

“She does?” Tim asked.

The director nodded. “Tell her she’s allowed to  _ ask _ .”

That perked Clint’s interest enough that he didn’t protest following McGee out of the secure room and down to the elevator. “That was rather cryptic.”

Tim frowned. “Yeah, well, she’s been under a lot of stress lately. Finding out Ironman was real and not just some cover story designed to take attention away from the problems in the middle east was a blow. She chewed out the FBI director for not reading her in on that one. And the CIA.”

“Sounds like she’s not fond of secrets.”

“Secrets she’s okay with, sometimes. It’s the ones that are potential threats to naval crews that really get her going. Since the armor could be flying over ships - or maybe even need to land on one if damaged - she thought she should be aware before there was an issue.”

“Sounds… sensible.”

Tim nodded, and the elevator was awkwardly silent for a moment. “So - daughter?” Tim asked. “She okay?”

Clint nodded, relieved at the change in subject. “Yeah, it’s a bit weird since she’s never had an allergic reaction like that before, but she’s being taken care of. I’m going to try and video call them tonight so I can see her.”

Tim’s face scrunched up as he opened up the door to the lab. “How could the Ringmaster know she had an allergy if you didn’t know? You can’t fake allergies.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Abby said as she walked out of the back room, only catching the tail end of McGee’s comment. “All you need is a bit of a runny nose and squinty eyes. Throw in a few sneezes and everyone believes you when you say it’s allergy season.”

“Wrong type of reaction,” Clint said. “Anaphylaxis.” Tony hadn’t said, but Clint didn’t know of any other allergic reaction severe enough to cause Tony Stark to panic. A rash or itches he could have handled just as well as the aliens; breathing issues? A bit more stress-inducing.

Abby tilted her head a bit. “That’s a teensy bit harder to fake, but all you’d need to do is mimic the symptoms. The doctors would be able to spot it quick though - all the allergy shots would come back negative.”

Clint shook his head. “Hers came back positive.”

“There, you see? No faking.”

“Did you find something new?” Tim asked. “The director said you wanted to ask Agent Barton a question, and that you were allowed to ask.”

“Oh yay!” Abby said. “It’s not really something new, but I wanted to get some fingerprint samples from you,” she told Clint. She held up a small card with a neat little row of boxes. “I was processing some of the evidence from the crime scene and thought it would help me eliminate any of the ones we’d expect because you - well, you know - lived there.”

_ [Sir, I should warn you that sounds highly suspect,] _ JARVIS said in Clint’s ear. 

He didn’t need the AI to know that much, yet Clint still didn’t deny the request outright. Instead he took the time to think through what the woman was asking him. He was a SHIELD agent and a spy; he was also their assassin. Having his fingerprints associated with a case in any form was simply unacceptable in that regard. Then again, with all the evidence from his house it was likely they already had his fingerprints and just didn’t know which ones were his. Plenty of other agents had documented identifiable marks, but they were grunts and desk jockeys and liaisons. Not spies.

Laura was gone, though. His shadowhawk, his second half, the mother of his children had been murdered. He’d been at a low point when he’d gone back to find her. Fresh out of the circus and still grieving Barney, he’d slipped out of SHIELD and checked on all his friends from before his parents had died. He hadn’t trusted the Ringmaster to leave them be.

Then Phil had enrolled him in high school. It had been impossible to avoid the ones who knew him. Who couldn’t possibly understand, but had teased and learned and played with him as if nothing was different. As if it was normal to just come back senior year. Three black eyes and a fumble in a closet later, he was learning to balance his lives.

He needed to rebalance again, to find his center, but he didn’t have any room for failure this time. He had kids now, and they had to come first. 

“Mister Barton?” Abby asked, closer than Clint remembered her being. “Are you okay? Do you need to see Ducky?”

Clint shook his head. “Sorry. Just - thinking.”

Giving his fingerprints would force Fury and Coulson to remove him from undercover work. He’d said it in the elevator, and Phil wasn’t impressed. Phil wanted to sweet talk him back.

His kids came first. If Phil didn’t like it, too bad.

“Let’s do it. The fingerprint thing. Where’s the ink?”

It wasn’t quite that simple. Abby had forgot the inkpad and herded Clint over towards autopsy to get the missing supply. Then she set him up in a spare room with Dorneget to help “get his mind off things” until he could video call his family. It didn’t help. He did it anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> I am very well aware that I am playing with some timelines and rearranging certain aspects of the universe. For clarity, I am basing this story primarily on the cinematic series with only some comic background to fill in holes as necessary. When this story starts, IronMan 1, IronMan 2, and The Avengers have happened. Civil War, Age of Ultron, and IronMan 3 have not. In order for that to work I had to move up the birth of Nathaniel to be very close to the time of the invasion (just before, actually. I quite like the idea that he was sulking in the rafters staring at the tesseract because he wanted to be home with his new baby). Most other changes should be pretty clear, but if they aren't just ask. I promise, I don't bite. Much.


End file.
